The Last Street Fighter
by J. Nelson
Summary: This is an epic story that takes place after the defeat of M. Bison. Enjoy! WARNING: Contains strong violence, sexual situations, and some strong language.
1. Blood on Her Hands

The Last Street Fighter.

This is a somewhat lengthy story I've wanted to do for a while now. A short explanation; I used to play a ton of these fighting games and always came up with my own stories for the characters, giving them their motives for being there I suppose, and this is just the culmination of that. This story takes place following the events of Street Fighter the animated movie, but watching that is not required to understand the story. I should warn that this story contains graphic violence and sexual situations and is intended for mature readers only. There's no actual sex per se, but I do have a couple of, shall we say, highly unorthodox romantic pairings that may offend. If you are offended, I recommend that you stop reading. I welcome criticism so long as it's not a personal attack against me. This first chapter doesn't contain any violence, but does feature one of those pairings I warned you about. Also, I don't own the rights to any of these characters, I think Capcom does. Enjoy!

Chapter one: Blood on her hands (Cammy\Chun Li).

It was a nightmare. She had so much blood on her hands, and no amount of washing would ever clean it off.

Cammy stepped into the shower, turning it on as hot as it would go, hoping somehow to numb the pain she felt like a dull ache. It was as if everyone she had ever killed was buried somewhere inside of her, trying to force their way out, making her stomach churn sickeningly. And it had been like this for as long as she could remember, which was only as far back as a few weeks. Before that, she had been a brainwashed assassin in the employ of M. Bison, a crazed would-be dictator who had entertained plans of global annihilation.

Now, after the Interpol doctors had finished with her, Cammy finally had her own mind back. And she wished she were dead. Now that she could remember, now that she could see the faces of each of her victims and watch them die over and over, she realized that being a mindless zombie would have been a more merciful fate. How could she deal with this?

Moaning under the impact of the hot water, Cammy suddenly turned it as cold as possible, shivering as the freezing spears tried to dig into her face and chest. Her skin had become tanned in her time out of the medical ward and she looked beautiful with her long blonde hair and soft features. But beauty was on the outside; inside she felt like a gnarled old hag.

_Like a witch in one of those old children's fables_, she thought to herself as she leaned against the wall of the shower stall and let the icy water run over her. That's what she was; an old witch with a penchant for murder and bloodlust. The mere idea of it was enough to make her want to cry.

She was an enigma to herself. She had no idea if she had a real name, as Cammy was all Interpol knew her as. And she had no idea if she had a family somewhere, or where that family might be; her features could have passed muster in at least twelve different countries, and her accent was American, however it sometimes sounded like English was her second language, though it was flawless just like all the other languages she could speak.

Cammy was like a ghost, a shadow of whatever had been there before Bison had corrupted her. And now, she felt so alone.

Suddenly, the water grew warm and Cammy opened her eyes. Two slim arms encircled her waist, holding tightly. Cammy smiled. Maybe she wasn't as alone as she thought.

"Mmm," she said as Chun Li kissed her neck. "I didn't know you were up yet."

"Well, I've got to get in to work early; something about a shipment of American stinger missiles on the black market, and the CIA wants our help and contacts to get them back." Chun Li had been promoted to Special Agent in Interpol after working with Ryu Hoshi, Ken Masters, and William Guile to bring down M. Bison. Since then, she had worked on a number of sensitive operations, especially with American intelligence agencies.

"You look upset," Chun Li said, stroking back some of Cammy's blonde hair. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Cammy lied. She didn't want to burden anyone with her problems, especially not Chun Li. The other woman had worked hard with her doctors to bring her back from the nearly catatonic state she had been in. They had certainly never expected to be lovers, but life took odd twists and turns, and now they lived together in a fair-sized apartment in Japan, not far from the Interpol branch there. Cammy had as of yet found no job suited to her unique skills and hated living off Chun Li as she was. Today would be another day of fruitless searching, she was sure of that.

"You can tell me anything," Chun Li said as they got out of the shower and began to towel off. "You know that."

"Yeah," Cammy said as she quickly dressed. "It's nothing, really." She gave Chun Li a kiss and walked out of the bathroom. "I'm going to head out and pick up the newspaper," she called back. "I might do a little grocery shopping. See you tonight!" Then the front door slammed, leaving Chun Li alone.

The other woman sighed and began getting dressed in their bedroom. Cammy had been getting more and more depressed as time went on. Chun Li was afraid it was serious and that she might do something she'd regret. She couldn't imagine what the other woman was going through; having lost all memory of her past, and learning she had worked as a killer for a madman, it was all so hard to deal with. It would be easier if Cammy would only share those problems. Keeping something buried deep within yourself was a bad thing, and could only lead to more pain and trouble.

The phone rang as Chun Li was strapping on her shoulder holster with its accompanying Browning 9mm automatic. She answered it.

"Hello?" The voice was instantly recognizable to Chun Li. "William!" She said as former United States Air Force Colonel and now Special Agent in the CIA William Guile greeted her over the phone. "What's going on? It's been ages since I've heard from you; congratulations on your marriage, I wish I could have been there."

Guile chuckled. "It was a dull thing; you would've been bored out of your skull. Actually, I wish _I_ had missed it and had been out in the middle of Siberia with you hunting down those Russian arms dealers, but don't tell the missus, eh?"

"Right," Chun Li smiled. "So why the sudden call?"

Guile paused. "That's sort of it. I've been posted on special assignment here to Interpol, about the whole missile thing. Since we've worked so well together in the past, my bosses and your bosses figured we could do it again. I just wanted to give you the heads up."

"Sure, thanks," Chun Li was a little surprised. Guile, here? In Japan? After what had happened between them, she had figured he would have wanted nothing more to do with her. Oh well, if the higher ups had said it, then no one had any say in the matter. She knew he'd act professionally, and so would she. Suddenly, she wondered how much her superiors knew about their relationship. Probably not enough, otherwise they wouldn't have requested Guile.

"Well, that's all kiddo, I just wanted to give you fair warning."

Chun Li raised her eyebrow. "Fair warning? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just didn't want it to be a surprise," Guile sounded preoccupied. "Uh, listen, I've got to run or I'll be late."

"Yeah, same here. Bye," Chun Li hung up and sighed. _Great, just great_. Old lovers always tangled things up, no matter how careful you tried to be.

With a frown on her face, Chun Li finished dressing and left her apartment, heading downtown, towards the building that housed the local Interpol offices. Something in her gut told her things were going to get messy. Right now, it was a warm sunny spring day in Tokyo. But everyone knew that saying about the calm before the storm.

To be continued…

Well, there it is. Not much yet, but it'll get better with time, trust me. I should apologize for my ineptness when it comes to Interpol. I know nothing about it and so am completely making this stuff up as I go along. Never a good practice, but forgive me and try to pretend it doesn't mater. That's what I do.

J. Nelson, 3–23–2007.


	2. The Briefing

Chapter two: The briefing.

Former Air Force Colonel William Guile sat in the uncomfortable chair in the briefing room chewing a stick of mint gum. He wished he hadn't given up smoking two years ago. Of course, if he hadn't, Toni would have made him do it long before he got married. She was a health nut, almost a vegetarian, and if it was bad for you, then she sure as hell didn't want it in their house.

_Oh well_, Guile thought to himself. _That's life_.

Unfortunately, his life also seemed to revolve around these annoying briefings. He had thought joining the CIA would have allowed him to actually work in the field, gathering intel and beating back the tide of terrorism; he had no idea it would involve boring meetings where people who were never going to leave their desks told him what to do, how to do it, and very rarely why to do it.

Right now, Guile sat across from Joe Takashimotto, one of the deputy directors of operations here at Interpol. He was Chun Li's immediate superior and was a total ass as far as Guile was concerned. If Guile hadn't known better, he would have said the man was racist.

"So," Takashimotto said, breaking the silence that had held the room for almost fifteen minutes. "You worked with Ms. Li before, yes?"

"Uh huh," Guile nodded, wishing he wasn't wearing one of those disgusting Company suits that practically screamed "Government agent, government agent". Guile swallowed his gum. "We worked to bring down M. Bison about, oh, I think it was nearly two years ago."

Takashimotto nodded. "She hard to work with?" He asked, playing with a closed file in front of him on the plain oak desk.

Guile grinned. "Nah, Chun Li's a little independent, and very outspoken, but she listens to reason, and always does her best. I never had any problems with her, you?"

"I've not worked with her long enough to say," Takashimotto said stiffly, "but I've found her to be highly insubordinate. She frequently defies orders and is a troublemaker. I think it is a wonder the Director keeps her on."

Guile was surprised. Chun Li, a troublemaker? As if! When he knew her, she was very by-the-book and sometimes even strict. "Hmm," Guile said thoughtfully. "Maybe you just need to get to know her; she's a pretty good woman, and one of the most effective agents I've ever worked with."

"Maybe," Takashimotto said disdainfully. Guile thought he heard him mutter something in Japanese.

"Didn't quite catch that, could you repeat it?" Guile made a show of cupping his ear.

"Heh," Takashimotto smiled an oily smile. "I only said you might be right, and that I should give Ms. Li a chance."

_Crap buddy, you said "Rotten Chinese dog". I can speak Japanese just fine, you racist turd._

Guile was debating whether to say anything about this when Chun Li arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, giving them a smile. She sat next to Guile. "There was a car accident and it blocked traffic for two streets; I had to take a detour." She patted her brown hair, now in a ponytail rather than her unique buns, back into place.

"That's okay," Guile said. "Agent Takashimotto and I have been getting to know one another."

"Moving on to business," Takashimotto said briskly, opening the file in front of him. "I'm sure you've both heard about the American stinger missiles that were stolen from a military base in California." His dull voice seemed to take on a derisive edge when he said this. "Well, our agents have tracked these weapons to an arms dealer in Taiwan." Now his voice carried a smug tone. "His name is Antoine Michaels, a Frenchman who has been living in Asia for the past nine years, after his own government tried to have him arrested." Takashimotto passed around a picture of a balding man in a tan suit. "This is a surveillance picture our agents took four days ago, just after the missiles were stolen."

"Okay," Guile said looking the picture over. "Now what's our plan to get them back? I've got a Marine squad at my disposal; you give us directions and we hit him hard, take back our property, and hand you Michaels on a platter to do with as you please. That sound good?"

Takashimotto sighed. "No, Mr. Guile that does not sound good. Interpol wants to do this quietly."

"So I tell my boys to put silencers on their guns, what's the problem?" Guile demanded.

"We won't be having you or your agency playing Cowboys and Indians, Mr. Guile." Takashimotto pulled another picture from the file. "This is Guenther Holmes, Mr. Michaels' head of security. He's wanted in ten different countries for various crimes, the least of which is kidnapping. Interpol wants him alive and in good health so we can question him and arrest him. He is one of your objectives."

Guile pulled his eyes away from the photograph. _Man, I've seen that sucker before_. "Wait a minute! One of my objectives? What sort of game are you playing here? All I want are the stingers; anything else wasn't part of the bargain."

Takashimotto shook his head. "If you want our cooperation, you will have to do us a little favor. Your second objective is to capture Mr. Michaels alive and return him along with Mr. Holmes." Takashimotto pulled yet another picture from his seemingly bottomless file. "And we also want this."

"What is it?" Guile asked, staring at the picture.

"A ledger containing, we believe, the codes to several of Mr. Michaels' associates operations. A veritable smugglers handbook filled with data we can use to smash weapon rings in at least seven different countries." Takashimotto closed the file. "You will be supplied with an Interpol strike team led by Ms. Li; using them, you will recover your missiles, our two criminals, and the ledger."

"Whoa, whoa, hold up there!" Guile stood from his chair. "I already have a team ready. Not to doubt Chun Li's experience, but I'd feel much more comfortable with men I know under my command rather than your people."

Takashimotto smiled faintly. "You have no say in the matter. Your government wants those missiles, and they are willing to accede to our wishes to get them."

Guile growled. "Fine," he said brusquely. "But I'm lodging a complaint! Are we done here?"

"Yes, I believe we are––" Guile left the briefing room before Takashimotto finished.

He stalked down the hall to a drink machine and got a soda, walking out onto the screened balcony to sit in the sun and enjoy it.

_I don't freaking believe this_! Guile swallowed half the soda in a single gulp. _I'm jumping through hoops all because our boys screwed up. Now, instead of hunting down the bastards that deserve to pay, I'm playing scavenger hunt for Interpol just so my bosses can clean this mess up quietly_.

"You haven't changed much," Chun Li said with a smile as she joined him on the balcony.

Guile smiled ruefully back. "Red tape still pisses me off."

"Yeah," Chun Li sat on a bench facing the city. "The mustache is new though."

"Oh," Guile fingered his upper lip where a golden hunk of fuzz grew. "I thought it was time for a change. Besides, it makes me look younger."

Chun Li just sat back with a smile on her face. "I'd like to apologize for Takashimotto. Everyone here thinks he's a moron, but he does his job well and stays out of trouble."

Guile nodded, finishing off his soda. "That's alright; we have jerks like him in Washington."

Chun Li was silent for a while. "Listen, William, about what happened between us…"

"Stop," Guile interrupted. "It's not a problem for me, okay? But if you do want to talk about it, at least wait until we're done with this job."

"Okay," Chun Li said as Guile tossed his soda can into a nearby bin.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to give my men the bad news." Guile paused at the door to the building. "It's good to see you again," he said quietly before opening the door and heading down the hall.

"Yeah, it's good to see you too," Chun Li said with a sigh, closing her eyes as a cool breeze drifted through the latticework screen in front of her. Her gut still roiled, and she wondered what was going to go wrong with this operation.

_Or maybe it's not with the mission at all. Maybe it's with you and him_.

The wind held no answers, so Chun Li climbed to her feet with a resigned feeling and went back into the building to get her team together.

To be continued…

Well this is chapter two. Not much eh? Sorry, but I kind of want to build up to all the action and drama. I would however like to apologize for my incredibly poor names. Antoine Michaels doesn't even sound French! It's just another failing from me. If it makes you feel better, pretend their names are different.

J. Nelson, 3–23–2007.


	3. Preparations

Chapter three: Preparations.

"So how long will you be gone?" Cammy asked, putting the plates in the sink and scrubbing them down with hot water. They had just finished a meal of honey chicken and asparagus, a dish Chun Li had learned to make when she discovered that Cammy had a taste for it. She had hoped that the taste of it might bring the other woman closer to her identity, but to no avail.

"Only a day or so," Chun Li said, sipping at her wine and leaning back in the chair at the table in the small kitchen of her apartment. "We just have to bash down a little stronghold, get the missiles, collect the arms dealer and his bodyguard, and grab a ledger. It'll be a piece of cake."

"I hope so," Cammy said, turning around to face Chun Li. "Will you have to baby-sit some CIA pencil pusher?" She asked with a wry smile.

"No," Chun Li felt her chest constrict a little. "They sent along Special Agent Guile to oversee the transfer of the stingers."

"Oh," Cammy's expression changed for a fleeting moment and she quickly went back to washing the dishes.

"What does that mean?" Chun Li asked gently, setting her wineglass down and stepping up behind Cammy's shoulders.

"Nothing," Cammy said as Chun Li began a smooth massage of her tense shoulder blades. "I just…I mean you didn't tell me, and it was sort of a surprise. I mean what's it been now, three years?" She had a slight catch in her voice.

"Yeah, something like that," Chun Li said, hoping it was the right answer. "He's married now you know." She winced, thinking that might have been the wrong thing to say, but Cammy only turned and wrapped her arms around Chun Li's waist.

"It's alright," she said with a little smile, pulling Chun Li closer. "I trust you completely. I was just a little surprised that's all, and, well, I guess I did get a little nervous for a second there."

"We split up a long time ago," Chun Li said, resting her head on the taller woman's shoulder. "I haven't looked back once." _It wasn't a lie, it wasn't a lie_! Chun Li closed her eyes and hoped the faint guilty feeling in her stomach hadn't shown on her face.

If it did, then Cammy didn't notice. She stroked Chun Li's long brown hair, now free of its confining ponytail. "You know," she said with a hint of impishness, "if you're going to be gone so long, then maybe we ought to, I don't know, make it an evening to remember?"

Chun Li opened her eyes and smiled. "That's sounds nice, Cam." _It wasn't a lie_; she knew it wasn't.

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William Guile sat on the bed in his small motel room, the cellphone in his left hand pressed to his ear, and his Colt automatic in his right hand, partially disassembled.

"Hello?" Said the voice he knew so well.

"Hello, it's your friendly neighborhood stalker just calling to check in." Guile grinned at his pathetic joke.

"Ooh," Toni said in mock fear. "If my husband finds out you've been harassing me, he'll tear you apart."

"Then we won't tell him, okay?" Guile put the pistol aside and lay back on the bed. "How're you doing, honey?"

"I miss you, but other than that I'll be fine. You aren't eating any junk food are you?"

"What, me? Of course not!" Guile chuckled. That would be the first thing she asked, and he loved her for it. "I'm eating…tofu…that's good for me, right?"

"You big liar," he could hear Toni's smirk all the way from California. "Don't worry; when you get back, I'll get you back in shape if it kills you."

Guile smiled and slipped out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor. "I miss you, Toni."

"Ah, you go off saving the world on your secret job you can't tell me about; I'll still be here waiting when you come back. Just me and the poolboy."

"We don't have a pool."

"I didn't say he was ours, now did I?" Toni said teasingly. "Either way, hurry back. I don't like thinking about you getting shot at or blown up on some little flyspeck island in the middle of nowhere."

"Taiwan's hardly nowhere, or tiny," Guile informed his wife.

"Well it's not here, so it doesn't matter. All I want is you, Bill."

"Well, I've got to go, but I'll call you tomorrow before I leave."

Toni snorted. "That'll probably be my wakeup call."

Guile grinned. "Maybe, we'll see about that. 'Bye honey, I love you."

"See you soon, after my date with Marco." Toni laughed as she hung up the phone.

Guile looked at the cellphone in his hand and shook his head. Toni's wild sense of humor was only one of many things that drew him to her. She was a dream, a real dream. He couldn't wait to finish this job and get home; to bask in the warm sun and swim in the water by their beachfront home. Oh well, he had to get those damned stingers back before they fell into some terrorist's hands and he started World War III.

Taking the Colt from the bed, Guile finished taking it apart and cleaning it. He liked to keep his personal sidearm in good working order; a gun that jammed up and got you killed was worse than taking a bullet from the enemy.

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Joe Takashimotto sat in his office chair, staring at the computer screen in front of him and wishing the phone would ring. He didn't want it to ring, not really, but it was going to sooner or later, and he would rather have it now to get it over with.

It rang.

Snatching it up, Takashimotto said, "Hello?" He spoke English, because whoever was on the other end of the line didn't know Japanese.

"We are ready," the voice sounded slightly Spanish or Italian; Takashimotto wasn't sure, nor did he care. Just so long as the man got what he wanted and paid him.

"I will forward the data files to you as soon as you give me the address." Here it was, the action that would either make him very rich or very dead.

"All right," the man on the other end of the line said. He then rattled off an email address, which Takashimotto did not write down. He merely entered it into his computer and sent off the requested files.

Interpol would know of course; they monitored anything going out of the building's servers, but it wouldn't matter. In another two hours, Takashimotto would be on a plane to Australia, one million dollars richer. All the months he had worked, funneling information to these mystery people and their enigmatic cause would be done; he would be free from their clutches, and quite rich to boot.

"Good, I have the files here." The voice didn't alter a hair and Takashimotto wondered if it was digitally modified. "Your money has been transferred to your Swiss account. Goodbye Mr. Takashimotto." The caller hung up.

Takashimotto sighed and mopped the sweat from his forehead. It was over, now all that was left was to get out of the country and hole up in Australia, where he could hide from Interpol and the American intelligence services. He would need to hide. The CIA and his bosses at Interpol would be pissed when they learned he had double-crossed two of their agents.

It wasn't his problem. Hell, it was dog-eat-dog world. The quick and vicious survived, and the weak died. It was as simple as that.

Wasn't it?

To be continued…

That's it? This freaking chapter took me two days to write?! Man, this sucks. I guess if I got off my lazy bum for more than an hour at a time I'd be able to do much more. Either way, forgive the short length. This has a lot more drama than the genre title suggested, eh? It's my fault; I like to build up to the action. If you're really, really patient, you will be rewarded with tons of action later on. Oh, and I'd like to extend a thank you to someone much wiser and smarter than me who showed me the error of my ways and taught me how to show the difference between two separate scenes and times. Thanks again, if it wasn't for you I'd still be floundering about like a headless chicken. Actually, I might write better that way.

J. Nelson, 3–35–2007.


	4. Across the water

Chapter four: Across the water.

Chun Li finished loading her silenced MP5 and slung it over her neck. She sat in the hold of a small Taiwanese fishing boat along with the eight other members of her assault team and William. They were all dressed in wetsuits with full air tanks resting beside them.

They had arrived in northern Taiwan early that morning. From there, one of their agents used his resources to buy this boat, which was now piloted by one of the Interpol men. They would head down to the southern coast of Taiwan, where Antoine Michaels had his home.

_Actually_, Chun Li thought to herself, _it was more like a fortress_. Apparently, Mr. Michaels didn't like Taiwanese architecture and had built himself a Spanish villa on the coast, right above the beach. Judging from recent satellite photos, Mr. Michaels had a small contingent of armed guards patrolling the grounds every night. All together, there were maybe twelve guards there at any one time. It shouldn't be too tough. Chun Li's men were trained, well-equipped, and ready for combat. Still, any life-or-death situation where bullets would be flying made her feel uneasy.

"Let's go over it one more time," Chun Li said, leaning forward so she could make out the faces of the others in the darkness. "We anchor the boat about a half mile from the beach and swim to our target destination. Once there, Alpha team should have made it through on foot and cut the power lines leading to the villa. That'll put Michaels on edge and may ruin our surprise, but it will cut off power to his floodlights. After the power is shut down we move in and take down the perimeter guards."

"Do we have the go-ahead to use deadly force?" Asked one of her commandos, a young Japanese by the name of Yasoki.

"Against anyone except Michaels and his head of security, Guenther Holmes––we want them alive." Chun Li waited until each of her commandos nodded before continuing. "Okay, once our attack begins, Alpha team will crash down the gate in the trucks we'll use to extract us and the stingers. Now we also need to collect a ledger that'll probably be somewhere in the villa; this ledger contains information Interpol needs to smash some other arms smuggling rings around the world. So that's three objectives, any questions?"

None of the commandos said a word and Chun Li nodded. "Excellent, we arrive about eleven o'clock local time and should begin our assault around midnight. If any of you want to get a little shuteye now's the time to do it."

In the quiet, muggy night air, the fishing boat slid slowly across the inky black waters. Chun Li's gut was cramping and she knew something bad was going to happen. She only wished she knew what.

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The man skimmed through the files on the computer, the files that the fool Takashimotto had sent, and smiled. His smile was like that of a wild dog; vicious, hungry, and utterly ruthless. He picked up the telephone sitting on his desk and punched in some numbers.

"Yes," he said when the phone was answered on the first ring. "We have their location now. I shall send you the coordinates immediately." He typed a command into his computer and waited until conformation came over the phone. "Good," he replied, "you have your orders. Kill both of them."

The man listened for a moment as the voice on the other end of the line rattled off a long winded warning. "Yes, yes," the man cut the spiel short. "I know they are almost here." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I think we have a nice reception all set for our little Interpol friends. Oh, and incidentally, I think it would be best if you took care of our leak; he knows far too much to let him live."

"Right, we have everything under control here, just do your job and leave me to mine." Again he smiled coldly. "I think I will enjoy this meeting very much," he said, the tone of his voice making the man on the other end of the conversation shiver. "Goodbye, I hope to hear from you again." The man hung up and sat back in his chair. Yes, it was almost here; after these two years of painful recuperation, and countless hours wasted as he was cut up again and again to restore his face, now he would finally face the woman who had done this to him.

He would enjoy stripping the flesh from her bones.

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Joe Takashimotto walked up to the ticket counter and asked, for the ninth time, why his flight to Australia was delayed.

"Because of the weather in Melbourne, sir," the polite but exasperated woman said. "There's nothing we can do about a storm, sir, so please bear with us. The delay shouldn't be more than a couple hours at most."

Takshimotto nodded, feeling a sense of panic and dread fill him. What if this was all a set-up by Interpol? What if they were already on to him and were only delaying his flight so they had a chance to catch him? No, no, that didn't make sense. Hell, they wouldn't even know he was gone until tomorrow, after the debacle with Antoine Michaels. Right now, he was supposed to be at home getting some sleep, and all he had to do was act normal and be calm until his flight.

Sitting in one of the hard chairs in the lounge, Takashimotto took deep breaths and tried to sooth his frazzled nerves. He would have been gone the previous evening if it hadn't been for an emergency at the office. Some idiot had accidentally unlocked restricted files, and Takashimotto had been required to question him since he was the man's immediate supervisor. That had taken all night. And then, come morning, he had planned on calling in sick and taking the afternoon flight out, but that had been foiled when a relative had dropped in unexpectedly for a visit. Now, it was almost twenty minutes to midnight, and his plane should have left an hour ago.

Maybe a drink would help.

Takashimotto got to his feet and walked over to the small bar in the airport. Each drink was weak and watered down to an extreme degree, but it would still be better than sitting alone and worrying. Plus, he could watch the front gates for any Interpol agents and make a run for it if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't be, because trying to escape the country as a wanted felon would be next to impossible.

"I'll take a scotch please," he asked the man tending the bar and received a cold, but very bland drink that might have been scotch, but he doubted it. Still, it was better than nothing.

"Excuse me," a man, American by his accent, said as he sat next to Takashimotto. "I need some help. I don't have any _yen_ for the payphone over there, and it won't take any of my coins." The man was skinny and wore glasses that made him look like an owl. "I was wondering if you'd give me change for a dollar?"

"Sure," Takashimotto muttered, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. That was when he noticed he was alone with this man in the bar. No other people sat within visual range, and the bartender was gone. An alarm bell rang in Takshimotto's mind, but it was too late. As his eyes returned to the stranger, he was confronted by the big black muzzle of a silenced Glock.

"Shit," Takashimotto said in surprise as the gun chugged once, sending one bullet into his forehead and severing all his ties with life.

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The helicopter sped over the forest as the sun sank lower into the horizon. They were in Canada, and flying only about a hundred feet above the ground. Each man in the copter was armed with a submachine gun and nightvision goggles. They were elite soldiers, mercenaries who only worked for the top dollar. And they had never failed a contract yet.

The leader of the mercs was a man named Tobias, and he sat in the helicopter and watched the green trees and occasional road speed past. They were heading for a house, and one specific man. He wondered why anyone would choose to live this far from civilization, but didn't bother thinking about it too much. He didn't need to know anything more about the man he was going to kill other than where he lived.

"_Uh we are approaching the target area; repeat, we are approaching the target area. Be advised, insertion in two minutes._" The voice belonged to the pilot of the copter, and he was telling the men in back to get ready to make their landing.

It was a special site they had picked out earlier, about a mile or two from the target's home. They didn't want the sound of the rotors to alert him, even though he was just one man.

Tobias smiled. It was time to earn his living.

To be continued…

Okay, another short piece, but if you managed to keep your eyes open through all of it you may have noticed I'm building up to a big action blowout in my next chapter. I would like to beg your forgiveness for my screwed up timeline. Hell, it's gotten so bad even I don't know what's going on where and when. Either way, I'd also like to note my inexperience with firearms. This'll play a big role in my next chapter and I know quite a bit about them, but only from reading, so it'll probably feel really dumb coming from a dork like me. Still, use your imagination (that's something we writers like to say when we want to hide our horrible mistakes), and my story is almost tolerable! Well, I hope I please my fans (I know you're out there, I can hear you snoring), and maybe entertain you for a little bit.

J. Nelson, 3–27–2007.


	5. First Skirmish

Chapter five: First skirmish.

It was a very unlikely sight in the deep Canadian woods; a small Japanese-style house, complete with small garden and pond in back, and only a dirt track going on through the trees for at least three miles before reaching a paved road. Very few people knew of the house's existence, except for Interpol, the CIA, and now a group of mercenaries. At the moment however, all was peaceful as the first sounds of night intruded upon the meditation of the sole occupant of the house.

Ryu Hoshi sat in the lotus position as incense wafted around him. He was dressed in his loose-fitting cotton training outfit and right now he was at peace with himself. He looked to the casual observer to be sleeping, but in reality he was outside himself, seeing things as clearly as only a relaxed mind could.

For the past two years, Ryu had stayed in this home away from all forms of human contact. The battle with M. Bison had taken a lot out of him, but it had showed him even more. After that fight, he had taken a vow never to use his abilities to hurt any living thing ever again. It was strange, how the violence and death had affected him, but he was happier now, alone, than ever before. He had no idea what his _sensei_ would think of him now, nor what Ken would.

Ken Masters…an old friend, an old competitor, and now a virtual stranger to him. Where Ryu had had problems dealing with his actions during the last fight with Bison, Ken had seemed fine. He went back to California, had never attempted to contact Ryu, and had made several TV appearances touting his new martial arts _dogo_ in San Francisco. Even though he lived in the wilds of Canada, Ryu did have a solar power generator, and allowed himself one hour of television a week, just to remain informed of what was going on in the rest of the world.

Ryu frowned and opened his eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong. He knew what it was at once; the crickets had stopped their chirping outside. Someone was out on the deck that encircled his home, he could tell this because a shadow flitted by, visible through the thin walls.

Ryu rose gracefully to his feet and noticed another thing: the shadow was carrying a submachine gun.

Without a sound, Ryu dove behind a stout kitchen counter as the unknown attacker opened fire, 9mm slugs ripping through the walls of his home and destroying anything exposed. Glass shattered, cushions exploded with white stuffing, and bullets pinged off the refrigerator, ricocheting throughout the room.

Ryu kept his head well-covered to protect it from flying glass and waited until the storm of lead ended. It only took a few seconds for the gunman to expend his clip of ammunition, and then the front door was kicked down, and something rolled into the room. Ryu had enough experience to realize it was a flashbang grenade and stuffed his fingers into his ears to hopefully protect them from the loud noise it would make.

The flashbang exploded with a deafening boom and a flash of intense light that would have blinded Ryu had he not kept his eyes closed and his head averted. As it was, his ears still rang quite a bit, though he could make out nearby sounds.

A black-clad man walked into the house, an MP5 in his hands and a pair of nightvision goggles on his head. He quickly scanned the room, not seeing Ryu behind the counter, and plucked a radio off his belt.

"Nothing out front," he said, his accent American. He replaced the radio and pulled the empty clip from his submachine gun.

Ryu silently slid open a drawer in the counter and grabbed a sharp knife as the radio clicked back, "_I've just breached the back door and have found no sign of him, repeat, no sign of him_."

"Great," the commando standing in the shattered remains of Ryu's main room said sarcastically. "Maybe he used some of his ninja magic to disappear."

Ryu took that as a perfect cue to stand up, the knife in his right hand, surprising the would-be killer standing thirteen feet away.

"What the…!" The man frantically pulled a fresh clip from his belt and rammed it into his MP5, but it was too late. Ryu had thrown the knife, sending it into the man's left eye, piercing the brain and dropping him like a load of trash.

_One down, how many more to go_?

This question was partially answered when Ryu heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. He quickly darted across the room, standing with his back flat to the wall and holding his breath.

The door was pushed open by another commando, once again armed with an MP5. This guy had his goggles up on his forehead, since they were effectively useless in the well-lit house.

"Nope, not a frigging clue as to where––what the hell?" He had taken two steps into the room and finally noticed his buddy's corpse. Ryu kicked out with his right leg, the bare foot as hard as concrete, and smashed his heel into the man's nose, snapping it and sending a piece of bone into his frontal lobe, turning the lights out for him permanently.

With a snarl, Ryu stared down at the dead body of another attacker. Who were they and why were they trying to kill him? Well, he wouldn't find the answers to those pressing questions inside, now would he?

--------------------------------------------------

Former United States Army Ranger Tobias Havers watched the house from the edge of the woods. He had sent most of his men to the building, with two of them going inside and another two keeping watch over the back exit into the garden. So far, other than a couple of negative reports, nothing had come over the com channels. He wondered what was going on, and was preparing to go inside himself, when the man with him, Randy Malkovitch, started gagging.

"What's the matter with you?" Tobias turned, and gaped in surprise. The other man with him in the dark woods was dead, the front of his skull caved in and something sharp sticking out of his chest. Tobias realized it was the man's own combat knife.

"Shit!" Tobias drew his Beretta M9 but never got a chance to use it. A sharp kick snapped his right wrist in two and sent the gun flying. Turning with fear in his eyes, Tobias saw a man clad in white standing a couple feet into the woods. He recognized the face immediately; it was Ryu Hoshi, the man they had been sent to kill. How had he gotten out here so quietly and without alerting his men?

"They're dead," Ryu said coldly, as though reading Tobias' mind. "You don't have to join them. Tell me who sent you, and why, and maybe I'll let you live."

Tobias nodded, his salt-and-pepper mustache standing out even more against his pale face. "Okay, whatever you want, just don't hurt me!" He hoped he sounded desperate enough. If he could make this psychopath feel confident enough, then maybe, just maybe, he could draw his combat knife and stick it through the bastard's heart. It was dark; the guy's eyesight couldn't be _that_ good, right? Wrong.

Tobias whipped his knife out and Ryu reacted automatically, batting the man's arm away and shoving the heel of his hand into the man's forehead. He didn't have a chance to pull back the attack; he crushed the man's skull, mashing his brain into useless putty.

"Damn it!" Ryu cursed angrily. He had killed the two idiots trying to hide in his garden, slaughtered the two who had invaded his home, and now he'd killed the only lead he might have had on who wanted him dead. Well, he wasn't going to stop here. He was going to find whoever had forced his hand and made him break his vow of pacifism, no matter what it took.

Ryu Hoshi took his promises very seriously.

To be continued…

Okay, now you know why I had the warning about violence in the summary, yes? Well, I tried to cut as much of it as possible, but I like my action to be kind of visceral. Plus it doesn't help matters that I recently watched the original Street Fighter movie with Sonny Chiba. So, I apologize if the gore and senseless carnage was offensive to you. I would also like to acknowledge my stupidity when it comes to Japanese architecture; I don't know anything about it and it shows. I also know nothing about any of the martial arts, and so probably made myself look even dumber than usual by including some chop-socky action. Well, I can only ask that you be understanding; I may not be the smartest writer in the world but…actually I can't come up with any of my good points, so I'll leave it at that.

J. Nelson, 3–29–2007.


	6. Californian Commandos

Chapter six: Californian commandos.

Ken Masters climbed out of bed feeling groggy and dissatisfied. It wasn't all that late and normally he would still be up, partying and making the tabloids rush out their wild stories focused on his sordid private life, but as of late he discovered he didn't feel like drinking with a hot blonde until five in the morning, or making numerous publicity showings for one of his many action movies.

_Maybe it's 'cause I'm getting old_. The thought made Ken smile as he looked down at the sleeping brunette under the covers of his large waterbed. Her name was Olivia and she had been his girlfriend for the past six months; making this the closest thing Ken had ever had to a long-term commitment. It was kind of nice, knowing you'd come home and find the same person there you had kissed goodbye to in the morning. It almost made him want to chuck his whole Hollywood lifestyle and move out to Idaho or someplace and settle down. Almost.

Ken stumbled through the dark bedroom to the half-open door to the bathroom. He was only wearing some silk pajama bottoms; Olivia was wearing the top. He sighed as he flicked on the light over the sink and nearly blinded himself.

After his eyes had adjusted, Ken looked in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. Oh he was still handsome, with his flowing blond hair and rugged features that had made him an instant success in the action world, but there was something in his eyes, something that told him he'd had enough. It was a weariness he couldn't explain, and for some reason he felt compelled to look up Ryu and see what his old friend was doing.

_I haven't spoken to him in years; not since that Bison thing_. Ken walked over to the toilet and flipped the seat up. _I wonder if he's still got that place in Japan or if he moved. Hell, he might not want to talk to me. We didn't exactly part as bosom buddies._ If Ken remembered correctly, they hadn't even said goodbye to each other before he returned to California and Ryu went…well, wherever he had went. _Whose fault is that? Huh Ken, who packed up and left in the middle of the night, running back to Hollywood and the safety of your little semi-life in the movies?_ It was his fault, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Flushing the toilet, Ken went over to the sink and washed his hands. Once again he got a good look at himself and knew that, tomorrow, he was going to fire his agent and run away. Just run away, get out of Hollywood, get out of California, and get a real life. Maybe with Olivia, if she'd take him. Maybe he had nothing going for him without his money and fame. He'd ask her over breakfast tomorrow.

_Yeah, that'll go over real well. Hey, honey, do you want to toss all this money and run off with me to some godforsaken place in Wisconsin or Nebraska, maybe get married and start a family? Oh, and would you also like more toast to go with your cereal?_

Ken grinned and turned back to the bedroom. He heard a faint cough and wondered if Olivia was coming down with something. Wouldn't that suck? She gets sick the day he wants her to marry him? Real romantic.

Ken flicked off the light and entered the dark bedroom. He thought he felt a chill in the air but dismissed it as getting older and being half-dressed. Had to watch out for drafts as you got older, right?

Ken was about to climb back into bed with Olivia when he put his hand down in something sticky. "What the…?" Ken paused, looking at Olivia's face in the faint moonlight seeping in through his wide, curtained windows. Something was wrong. Her pillow was covered in…blood.

"Shit," Ken felt panic rise in his chest and then heard a gentle creak on the floorboards behind him. He whipped around, automatically striking out at the black-clad man with his foot. He connected with the man's arm, hearing a sharp crack and a string of curses as a compact pistol flew from the man's hand and slid across the floor.

_A gun. He shot her. She's dead_. Ken's mind was whirling with shock and disbelief. Olivia was dead; that hadn't been a cough he'd heard, it was the bark of a silenced automatic. The cold-blooded assassin had gunned down an innocent woman in her sleep!

Rage enveloped Ken and he struck again, before the other man could ready himself. His kick took the man in the throat, crushing his larynx and sending him flying back against a chest of drawers. He gurgled once then died.

"Bastard," Ken spit, feeling hot with anger and confusion. He didn't have any time to ponder his situation though, as another commando rushed through the doorway, a silenced Heckler & Koch pistol in his hand. He came to a stop about ten feet away from Ken, his gun raised and ready to spit death at the blond martial artist.

With a cry, Ken flew into the air, slamming into the guy's chest with a jump kick and snapping a couple of ribs. With a groan the would-be killer backed away, his gun pointed at the floor.

Ken snapped a crane kick at the man's face. He connected with a solid foot to the man's nose, shoving pieces of bone deep into the assassin's brain, killing him nearly instantaneously.

Staring down at the two dead bodies, Ken couldn't believe it. Who were these men and why had they tried to kill him? They certainly hadn't been after Olivia; she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A victim because she knew him.

Ken didn't hear the next killer slinking down the hallway towards the open bedroom door. He also didn't hear the pop of the silenced 9mm, but he did feel the sharp pain as the slug tore through his upper arm, splashing the wall with blood.

With a muffled curse, Ken dove to the side, narrowly avoiding two more bullets that chewed up the floor. His vision was blurred from the pain, but still he struggled to his feet, knowing that this gunman wouldn't hesitate to finish him off. He clutched at the arm, trying to stem the flow of blood. It was useless; he would bleed to death unless he got out of here and to a hospital, and fast!

The assassin with the H&K P9 rushed into the room, his gun up and searching. Ken kicked out, weakly, and knocked the man's aim off, sending a bullet into the ceiling. The man punched back, slamming Ken into the floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted his two story, modern house in the quiet Hollywood hills.

Feeling desperate as the killer took aim once again, this time intending to blow Ken's head off, the injured movie star did the only thing he could: he crashed through the window as the commando fired.

Fortunately, Ken's small sports car was directly under the window, and since it was a convertible it helped break his fall––and possibly two ribs as well. He landed on the leather seats with a rain of glass that cut him and gouged him, but he was alive. For the moment at least.

The assassin stood in the shattered window and raised his automatic. Ken saw this and used the last of his strength to open the passenger door and roll out of the car as the bullets ripped his genuine leather seats to pieces. He hit the ground and stared up at the window. He couldn't move, not until he regained his breath, and that would give the killer enough time to end it.

_Damn it Ken, get your ass in gear! If you die then who's going to find out what's going on and get some revenge? C'mon, do it for Olivia_!

Ken rolled to his right as the commando above him fired one last time, the bullet hitting the ground where Ken had been laying just a half-second before. Then, even from down on the ground, Ken could hear the click that signified an empty gun, and the resulting curses from the commando.

Growling with victory, Ken rose to his feet and began running, quite shakily, down the driveway. He had to get out of here and get his arm patched up, and he knew just the place. A friend who owed him a couple favors was nearby; so long as he didn't run into anymore of these black-clad killers, he'd be fine.

--------------------------------------------------

"Shit, he got away." The commando reloaded his H&K and stared down at the road with hatred in his eyes. His two buddies lay dead behind him on the floor, killed by this guy they'd been hired to waste, Ken Masters, the famous movie star.

"Yeah, well, I've got worse news," the only other surviving commando said tersely, returning his radio to his belt. "Someone aced Tobias and the others. They're all dead."

"What?" The man with the 9mm couldn't believe it. "You've got to be freaking kidding me, right?"

"No, we've got to get back to base as soon as possible."

"What about the bodies?"

"Leave 'em; they didn't have any identifying marks and each of these guys is listed as KIA in somebody's records, so we can let the authorities sort this mess out." The other commando turned swiftly. "C'mon, we've got our orders. Let's move it."

The man glared once more out the window, holstered his sidearm, and followed the other man. He'd find this Masters, one way or the other. If it took him two weeks or ten years, he'd find him and kill him. Jeremy and Ricardo deserved vengeance for their deaths.

To be continued…

Well, I've got some more action in this chapter. That's really all I can say about it. I tried my damnedest to keep the gunplay to a minimum, along with the martial arts, but my ineptitude shows through. Also, I apologize for the title of this chapter. It's very pulp fiction-y, yes? Well, I was stumped on a name and recalled some of the old Executioner novels I loved (and still do), and just messed with that a little. Hopefully it won't happen again. But I can't promise that.

J. Nelson, 3–31–2007.


	7. Old enemies

Chapter seven: Old enemies.

William Guile slipped over the wall, landing lightly on his feet and surveying his surroundings. Everything was a washed out green in his nightvision headgear, soft blurry blobs moved about in the darkness. Apparently Alpha team had managed to cut the power, leaving these chumps in the dark, scared out of their wits and ready to jump at shadows. This left Beta team with the dirty job; clearing the grounds, retrieving the stinger missiles, and taking the two targets in alive and well.

It was this last objective that had Guile worried. Something was bound to go wrong if you had to keep someone alive. Making people dead was easy; but fortune didn't favor those with a life in their hands. Oh well, he would just have to do this carefully and quietly.

The first of the twelve patrolling guards lost his life to Guile, who snapped the man's neck silently and dragged his body to some rose bushes in a corner of the compound. Chun Li took care of another, slitting his throat without a sound. The rest of her Interpol assault squad fanned out and did their job very well, taking out sentries with a minimum of noise. Soon, they were alone on the well-kept grounds.

Guile had his back against the cool stone of the Spanish villa, his MP5 held tightly in both fists. Chun Li joined him, her eyes glowing brightly in the moonlight.

_Wish it was pitch black_, Guile thought nervously. _At least then we'd have the advantage_. As it was, they still had the edge over the cheap guns guarding the villa. After all, he highly doubted they could see in the dark, or that they had had Special Forces training. They'd be fine. Or so he kept telling himself.

"Okay, how do you want to this?" He asked Chun Li; she was in charge here, not him, so he had to defer to her orders. Which didn't gall him much; he had worked with her and knew she was no slouch when it came to combat situations. Still, he would have felt a little less anxious if he had his own team under his command.

"We pick up Michaels and Holmes first," she said, casting an apologetic glance his way. "Sorry, my orders supersede yours. Once we have the targets, we find the missiles and locate the ledger."

"Gotcha," Guile looked up at the wall of the two story villa. "Any idea where we might find our little arms dealer and his flunky?"

"How about right here?" The voice had a strong French accent and was immediately followed by bright floodlights illuminating the entire compound.

"Shit!" Guile's nightvision goggles fuzzed madly and he tore them from his face, his eyes burning and everything blurred beyond seeing. He raised his submachine gun and aimed it in the general direction of a mass of black, right under the floodlights.

"No! If you want to live I would strongly suggest keeping your finger away from the trigger!" The French voice again, this time sounding harsh and authoritative.

Guile put the gun down as his vision slowly cleared. He could see they were screwed and that opening fire would only put them all in a casket. There were at least twenty fatigue-clad soldiers at the edge of some light woods, tall floodlights mounted on metal polls behind them. Each was armed with an assault rifle, and each in turn was aimed at the Interpol party. Two men stood a little behind the soldiers, one remaining in the shadows and the other being painfully visible.

Guile recognized Antoine Michaels at once, wearing a deep mauve suit that strained the eyes and holding a small Beretta automatic he stood out from the crowd of soldiers just by being an eyesore. They way his hand shook while holding the pistol, Guile worried the man might accidentally discharge it and start a whole domino effect that would spell the end for the commandos.

_The little prick is probably more used to sitting in his office and telling his goons to whack someone. Being out in the field must be a real pants-pisser for him_.

"Put the guns down and stand up with your hands on your head; any suspicious movements and I'll put a bullet in you." Guile complied, though he found the man's threat of shooting him to be laughable at best.

"How did you…?" Chun Li began to ask, only to have her question interrupted by the man in the shadows.

"We paid one of your pathetic friends in Interpol to trade information on you," the man walked out of the shadows, passing the line of soldiers and smiling viciously as he stalked nearer to Guile and Chun Li. "Then we killed him, just like we're going to kill you."

Chun Li was frowning. She recognized the man. His accent wasn't German, though she was sure he was Guenther Holmes, Antoine Michaels' head of security. His face was handsome, his picture not doing him enough justice, but there was something else; she just wasn't sure what it was.

He had short brown hair and a fairly muscular appearance, though he held himself like a ballet dancer, almost on the tips of his toes and always ready to leap. He reminded Chun Li of a barracuda, sleek and deadly. But it wasn't the way he carried himself that sparked some old memory, it was something more basic, like a wild animal in human form just waiting to be unleashed. He was stroking the hilt of a thick hunting knife tucked behind his belt, right next to a Heckler & Koch Tactical .45.

She realized who he was when he stopped in front of her and his smile grew more visceral.

"Vega!" She whispered in shock.

Giggling freakishly, the man she had kicked off a seven story building, the man she had killed two years ago, licked her face like a dog. "Yes!" He said in a high voice. "I'm glad you remembered me; after all, we had such a short meeting last time."

"You son of a bitch!" Guile growled and lunged forward, getting a swift punch to the gut for trying and landing on his backside with the wind knocked out of him.

"No, Guile, I don't think so," the maniac called Vega drew the H&K, pointing it straight at Guile's head. "Stay down and be a good boy. I don't want to kill you yet. No," he looked longingly at Chun Li, "I want this to be a reunion to remember."

"Wait, Holmes, what the hell is going on?" Antoine Michaels strode forward, past the line of soldiers, his Beretta aimed at the ground. "They're Interpol, we have to get rid of them quickly and get out of here to Brazil!"

Vega sighed and had a very contented look on his face. "I have been waiting to tell you this for a long time you insufferable jackass." He half-turned to face Michaels. "You are a dipshit little arms dealer with less imagination than a hermit crab, and the past few months I have worked for you it's been all I can manage to keep from putting a knife into your ribs while you sat at your table eating your damned pork and lambasting the chef for making it too rare."

"What do you mean?" Michaels asked, just as Vega pulled the .45 from his waistband.

"I mean I quit, you moron." Vega pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Michaels' forehead and dropping him like a sack of flour.

"That was fun," Vega said with an animal grin. "Now, let's get you down to the cellar where we'll have more privacy." He leaned closer to Chun Li. "I'm going to strip the flesh from your pretty bones, and listen to your screams as you beg for mercy, and maybe, just maybe if you're very nice, I'll put a bullet in your skull, ending the pain. But I wouldn't bet money on it."

Chun Li spit in Vega's face as the soldiers, who obviously knew who their boss was, tied her hands behind her back, along with Guile's.

Vega merely chuckled. "You threw me out a window," he said mildly. "Broke most of the bones in my body, ruined my face, and forced me to recuperate for years. I can deal with a little saliva." He turned away as another soldier rushed out of the villa.

"Sir," he said, stopping in front of Vega and saluting crisply. "We have finished searching those files you obtained and discovered something you might want to see." He handed Vega a piece of paper and cast a glance at Michaels' dead body. He shrugged slightly and turned back to Vega, who had finished scanning the paper.

"My goodness, this puts a surprising new spin on things." Vega handed the paper back and sent the soldier back to the house. He turned to Chun Li and she felt a horrible fear take hold of her; it was in his soulless eyes, a message that sent chills down her spine.

"I had always assumed it would be you and Colonel Guile," Vega said sweetly, tucking the automatic back into his belt. "Not you and Ms. Cammy. Well, it appears our little rendezvous will have to wait; I have some important business to attend. We'll have to see if your girlfriend still remembers me, hmm?" He cackled with glee, looking more and more insane by the moment.

"You bastard! Leave her out of this!" Chun Li tried to attack Vega, but was held back by one of the soldiers.

"I can't," Vega said in a voice dripping with false sorrow. "I have a job to do. But don't worry; we'll still have plenty of time to play when I get back." He laughed again and directed the soldiers to take the Interpol agents into the villa and bring them to the cellar.

To be continued…

Okay, first off, a quick apology for the rushed feel of this. I had some trouble with certain scenes and I'm sure you noticed. I can give away a bit of a spoiler though; my next chapter will not deal with Chun Li and Guile, nor will it focus on Cammy. Yup, I'm going to leave you in suspense for a while and head back to Ryu and Ken. See you next time, unless I disgust you so much with this chapter that you shun me forever.

J. Nelson, 4–2–2007.


	8. Sanctuary

Chapter eight: Sanctuary.

Hollywood glittered, no matter the hour and no matter the season. It was a perpetual playground of the rich and famous, from pop stars to movie icons; all would eventually walk the glowing streets of Hollywood, and more than a few would be sucked into that horrible shadow world under the glitz and glamour. The world where those famous stars hit rock-bottom, or at least began embarking on a downward spiral that would lead, inevitably, to ruin.

Most stars avoided this, but only barely, and many were scarred with the taint from Hollywood's dark underbelly for years to come. Others didn't care, feeling on top of the world and willing to live every day as if it were their last, and sometimes nearly making it so. It was a crazy place, Hollywood, one of the only neighborhoods where a shirtless man could walk the streets at any time of the day and not be given undue attention.

Ken Masters was thankful for this, as he made his way deeper into the streets. He avoided the more open streets and the shining bars and clubs, making for the back alleys and residential streets, hoping to keep away from anyone who'd choose to call the cops and get him busted. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, but only knew that he didn't want to sit in a jail cell until his agent called and posted bail; he wanted to be out here, finding out who had killed Olivia and why. And why the bastards wanted him dead.

But first things first, he had to get medical aid, and fast. His shoulder wound was bleeding bad; sooner or later, and probably sooner judging from how light his head felt, he'd pass out. With no one to help him, death would come quickly.

He should have gone to a hospital, but there was no time for that. They'd call the police, tell them they had Ken Masters, famous movie star, with a bullet in his arm, and then he'd be right back where he didn't want to be. In the slammer trying to explain to some very unhelpful police officers that he didn't know the dead men in his house, and he had no idea why they'd try to kill him. No, Ken couldn't go to a hospital. That left one place where he was sure he'd find a friend.

It wasn't a very impressive building, in fact in was downright ugly compared to the ones around it, but the Silver Pond apartment complex was just as gaudy as everything else in Hollywood, and just as expensive. Ken figured it must cost a couple thousand bucks a month just to stay here, though in Hollywood that was chump change.

Ken couldn't go through the lobby, so he skirted around back, going in through a side door that the management unwisely kept unlocked. He found the back stairs and headed up to the ninth floor, carefully keeping his bloody arm away from the wall; a blood trail leading straight to his friend's apartment would surely be noticed, and would ruin any chance Ken had of recuperating in safety.

The apartment was the only one on the ninth floor, making one of the more expensive ones in the entire complex. It was owned by another famed movie actor, Fei Long, a fellow martial artist and competitor in the boxoffice earnings.

Fei Long had moved to America a couple years back, after making it big in Hong Kong doing martial arts flicks and being more than favorably compared to Bruce Lee. So far, his seven movies had brought in an estimated five-hundred million dollars, making Long a well-paid action star. He could have owned a house anywhere in the world, and often admitted to disliking Los Angles compared to his homeland. He only stayed here because of his sister, who kept out of the media's eye very well.

Ken had met the young Asian on the set of Blood Dragon's Revenge, a big-budget chop socky movie about a samurai coming back from the dead to kill his immortal nemesis, who had been reincarnated as a Yakuza boss. It was a stupid action movie, but had done well commercially, and Ken had played the part of Johnny, the FBI agent called in to put a stop to the immortal martial artists. Fei Long had played the hero of course, and they both teamed up at the end to defeat the evil Yakuza leader. It had been fun working with him and they'd struck up a friendship that had held together very well, despite their movies often being in direct competition.

Now, as Ken slid down the short hall to the door, he hoped Fei would help him.

He came to the door and knocked feebly; his strength was fading fast, and he was beginning to see red at the corners of his vision. He tried again, kicking this time at the door.

Grumbling came from inside. "Just a damn minute," Fei's voice said, sounding very muffled. The door was wrenched open and Fei Long stood there in a blue bathrobe. His hair was a mess and he yawned once before his eyes registered Ken's bloody form standing front of him.

"What the…?" Fei said as Ken slipped into the void of unconsciousness, falling forward and never feeling the floor come up to hit him.

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Ken slowly came back to the world of the living, feeling like a ten pound weight had been dropped on his skull.

"Uhh," he groaned, trying to sit up and feeling a strong hand push him back down onto a soft bed covered with pillows.

"No," Fei Long said in his nearly flawless English. "Don't move just yet; you lost a lot of blood. Here, drink this," he put a cup to Ken's lips and the Caucasian drank, spluttering a little.

"What is it?" Ken asked, his voice hoarse as his sight came back and he was able to see Fei's head looking down at him. "Taste's like crap."

"Well, chicken soup has never been my strong point," Fei Long joked.

"How long have I been out?" Ken asked as he took stock of his situation. He was in Fei Long's bedroom, covered with a thick quilt and propped up on a mound of pillows. He didn't seem to be wearing his pajama bottoms anymore and found his shoulder was bandaged as well.

"Only a few hours," Fei gestured to the clock on the bedside stand. It was six o'clock in the morning. "The news has been buzzing like mad for the past half-hour or so. The cops are searching frantically for you. What the hell happened, Ken?"

"I don't know," Ken sat up a little and Fei Long didn't try to stop him. "These gun-toting maniacs busted into my house and started shooting the place up; they killed…" Ken closed his eyes as he felt a surge of pain in his chest. "…they killed Olivia and tried to kill me. I got a couple of them."

"Why'd you come to me?" Fei Long asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You should have gone to a hospital."

Ken shook his head. "No, I've got to find those bastards, and I can't do that in a bed or in a cell. You've got to help me, keep me hidden until I get my strength back."

Fei Long sighed. "I don't know, Ken. This isn't a good idea. Do know why those men tried to kill you?"

"No, that's one of the things I've got to find out. Will you help me?" Ken looked straight into Fei Long's eyes, looking a sign of what was going through the other man's head.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Fei Long sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this, but okay. You can stay here as long as you need––but…" he added severely. "…you aren't doing anything without my consent, all right?"

"Sure," Ken said with a smile. "Thanks for digging that bullet out of me," he said as Fei Long got to his feet. "I thought you'd told me you went to medical school over in China."

"Good thing you remembered," Fei Long said dryly. "In case you want it later, I've put your little souvenir in a jar for safekeeping."

"No," Ken said seriously. "The only bullet I want is one to put in the skull of the pig behind this."

"Be careful, Ken." Long warned. "You should relax and think about this; blind vengeance won't help you, it will only hinder your work."

"Yeah, maybe." Ken lay back and closed his eyes. He thought Fei Long was wrong; the burning pain in his chest, the aching hunger for revenge, wouldn't die down in time. It'd only grow stronger, until the day he put his hands around the throat of whoever sent those killers.

To be continued…

Well, at least this chapter is better written than my last, for which I continue to offer my apologies. I hope you found this to be readable, unlike my last work, and I also hope you forgive my liberties taken with Fei Long's character. I have no idea if he has a sister or not but I need to use her for the most convoluted plot twist ever later in the story. No, I didn't give anything away, just gave you a fair warning.

J. Nelson, 4–4–2007.


	9. A call for help

Chapter nine: A call for help.

Demetrius Jacob Cole was awakened by the phone beside his bed. It rang incessantly, shattering the pleasant dream he was having.

"Who the hell would be callin' at this hour?" He asked his wife, Lauren, as he glanced at the clock. It was five o'clock in the morning in Jamaica, and Demetrius, or Dee Jay as he was known to his friends, was feeling very tired. He had been up most of the night, dealing with the weekly bills and other costs associated with running a bar in Montego Bay.

"I have no idea, honey," Lauren said, her voice muffled by the pillow she held over her head. "Why don't you answer it and find out?"

"Yeah," Dee Jay swung his feet out over the edge of the bed and picked the phone up. "You better have a damn good reason for waking a brother up at this hour," he said into the receiver as he walked out onto the deck of his modest beach house.

"Dee Jay, it's Ryu," the emotionless voice on the other end said.

"Oh, great, real great, I'd love to chat some more but it's five in the freakin' morning." Dee Jay sat on the railing and looked out over the tranquil waters. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the stars were fading fast with the approach of daylight. In another hour, it would be another bright, sunny day. A day Dee Jay would have enjoyed spending on the beach with Lauren, at least until the bar opened up at eight o'clock in the evening.

"You had better have a real good reason for callin', man." Dee Jay watched his wife through the glass doors. She was getting up, resigned to the fact that there wouldn't be anymore sleep that morning. He admired her firm backside as she went into the bathroom. Yeah, Ryu had better have a damn good reason for calling this morning.

"Some guys just tried to kill me," Ryu said bluntly, his voice never changing a hair.

"Whoa, shit, you serious?" Dee Jay woke up a little more. It wasn't every day a friend told you someone had tried to kill him. Actually, he wasn't sure if Ryu was a friend. They had met in the street fighter circuit, Dee Jay having been bested by the young, extremely adept Ryu, and somehow they had started hanging out after that. Ryu had even helped him earn the money he needed to open the bar. But a couple years back, they'd just stopped talking, and Dee Jay hadn't seen Ryu since.

"Yeah, I'm serious."

"But you're okay, right?" Dee Jay stood up and watched a small wave come in, sliding smoothly up the beach.

There was a long pause. "Yeah, I'm fine," Ryu sounded a little tense for a moment, which Dee Jay found hard to believe. Very rarely had he seen the other man display any kind of emotion, for any reason.

"Well, I'm flattered you thought of me and all, but I don't see how I can help you." Dee Jay said honestly, feeling somewhat at a loss.

"One of the guys I killed had a Marine tattoo on his arm, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming over and checking it out for me." Ryu knew Dee Jay had been in the Marines for a while, until a piece of shrapnel caught his leg and he was discharged. He forced himself through years of physical therapy, even taking to street fighting, just to get himself back to his full potential. During his last street fight, which had been against Ryu, his leg had given out again, nearly crippling him and ending his fighting career. Actually, this hadn't been a bad thing, since it was not long after this that he had met Lauren and got the idea of running a bar in Jamaica.

"You got their bodies?" Dee Jay said incredulously.

"Yeah, now you coming or not?" Ryu sounded annoyed.

"I don't know," Dee Jay said with a frown. "Where're you at, man?"

"Canada."

"You want me to fly out to Canada?" Dee Jay almost shouted into the phone. "You know I've got a bar to run, right?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate." Ryu's voice was as cold as ever. "I want to get to the bottom of this mess," he said. "And any help you could give me would put me one step closer to finding out who wants me dead."

Dee Jay paused, thinking. It was a hard decision. On the one hand, screw Ryu; he hadn't called or even sent a letter in years, now he expected to make Dee Jay fly to Canada just to identify a corpse? Hell no. But then…if it wasn't for Ryu, Dee Jay might not have this bar, or this nice house, or much of anything. He owed Ryu something, but was this going too far?

"Fine," he sighed into the phone. "I'll take the first flight out."

"Thanks," Ryu said, hanging up without another word.

"Oh man Dee Jay, what've you got yourself into now?" He went back inside with another sigh. "Lauren isn't going to like this…"

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Dee Jay's rented truck made it up the winding dirt road. Ryu had called an hour after his first conversation, telling him to fly to Ontario and he gave him a phone number to call once he arrived. His plane landed at noon and Dee Jay phoned Ryu, getting his directions to the other man's house. Man, was he glad he rented a truck, 'cause anything else would have a hell of a time getting through his road.

Ruts bounced him along, making for a titanic struggle over the wheel, as Dee Jay tried his best to keep away from the sides of the road and the woods that encroached from all sides. Yeah, why wasn't he surprised Ryu would choose to live in some place so far off that map he almost expected a dinosaur to lumber over and take a bite out of his truck.

_There it is_, Dee Jay thought triumphantly as he saw the small Japanese style home in the clearing ahead. In no time, Dee Jay was pulling to a stop in front of the house and stepping out of the vehicle.

Ryu came around the corner of the house, wearing a tee-shirt with the sleeves removed, a red headband, and some old jeans.

"About time you got here," he said, smiling faintly. "I was worried you'd got lost."

"Man," Dee Jay exclaimed disgustedly, "I was drivin' about twenty miles an hour 'cause of that goat path you call a road, so excuse me if I took a little longer than you expected."

Ryu nodded. "It's good to see you again, Dee Jay."

"Yeah, well I wish I could say the same about you, Ryu. What happened? You never call, you never write, hell I ain't seen you in what, almost three years?" Dee Jay shook the other man's hand firmly.

"I'm sorry," Ryu said soberly. "I had some things to work out."

"Yeah, killing assassins and shit from what I hear. So where's the body?"

"Out back, follow me." Ryu led Dee Jay around the house and to a small Japanese garden, with a little fishpond at one end and several stone and wood benches placed about seemingly at random. There were also six bodies dressed in black lying on the ground. Ryu went to one of them.

"See?" He said, opening the man's jacket and revealing the tattoo to Dee Jay. "These guys shot up my home and tried to put a few rounds in me last night. I was searching them to see if I could find any clues when I saw this."

"Son of a bitch," De Jay said, a shocked expression on his face. "I know these two," he pointed to two similar looking bodies. "That's Andy and Carl, they're these two brothers I knew back when I served Uncle Sam."

"Are you saying the U.S government is behind this?" Ryu said fairly disbelieving.

"No," Dee Jay said quickly. "These guys and I worked for a Special Forces group codenamed Shadow Vipers. We were tactical assassins, sent in to neutralize small groups of enemy combatants in Afghanistan and Iraq, or take out individual targets carefully, quietly, and so that nothing could be traced back to the U.S. These two guys were killed in Afghanistan by a mortar."

"Were you there?" Ryu asked.

Dee Jay shook his head. "Nah, that was after the group was disbanded due to political pressure in Washington; guess an army of secret killers doesn't cut well with the big boys in the oval office. The President shut us down and we went back to our normal deployments. I was in Iraq when I got the news about Andy and Carl."

Ryu nodded but didn't say anything. "Would it be too much to hope that you recognize any of the others?"

"My God," Dee Jay turned and walked over to the older man with white hair Ryu had tried to interrogate. "That's Major Tobias Havers, and I know for a fact that he's dead. I saw him get blown up by an I.E.D in Baghdad. Ryu, what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know," Ryu said, his cold eyes staring down at the supposedly deceased soldiers. "But these guys were very much alive when they tried to kill me."

Now however, they were really dead. And one answer had lead to many, many more questions.

To be continued…

Well, not too painful to read I hope. I will say that my goldfish-like memory doesn't recall whether Dee Jay was actually in the animated movie or not, but he was in the game and he is in my story. I'd also like to say that I won't be submitting another chapter on Sunday, but will submit two on Monday to make up for this. Hey, it's Easter, I need a break once in a while. Though judging from my currently awful writing I suppose you assumed I was already on some sort of break.

J. Nelson, 4–6–2007.


	10. Plans of Escape

Chapter ten: Plans of escape.

It was cold and musty in the cellar of the villa; Chun Li supposed that Antoine Michaels hadn't been a wine man, judging from the empty wine racks and uncared for odor that permeated the fair-sized enclosure.

They were alone, just her and William, with their arms tied behind their backs and lashed to one of the empty wooden racks. She had no idea what had happened to the other members of her team, or what time it was as there were no windows in the cellar. All Chun Li knew was that she had to get out of here and fast. She had to get back to Japan, had to warn Cammy and stop that psycho son of a bitch Vega from hurting her. But right now, Chun Li couldn't see how to do any of that.

"Ahh," she pulled at the ropes that bound her for the hundredth time, feeling more of her flesh rip and burn, but not getting any closer to freedom. "Damn it!" She shouted, her voice echoing in the dark cellar.

"Try to relax," Guile said calmly, testing his own ropes carefully. "We aren't getting out of here by screaming our lungs out."

"That's easy for you to say!" Chun Li snarled, trying to find a weak spot in the old wood that she could exploit and use to her advantage. There was none.

"Why don't you talk to me, huh?" Guile had his eyes closed, his hands still moving constantly. "Tell me what's going on between you and Cammy. She was that assassin Bison used to kill those senators in America and the two members of Parliament over in Britain, right?"

Chun Li fell back against the rack, feeling a horrible wave of defeat wash over her. "Yeah," she said tiredly. "Interpol sent her to a clinic where they could run some tests and try to recover her mind. They reversed the brain washing Bison had done, but she still doesn't have any memory."

"Okay," Guile said in a very soothing voice. "Now how is she connected to you? The way Vega talked, it sounded like you two are…well, lovers or something." There was the hint of a question in Guile's voice.

"We are," Chun Li said quietly, feeling tears slide down her face. "I don't know how it happened, but after Cammy was deprogrammed, she was put on suicide watch; she had tried to kill herself twice. I guess the memories of what she had done were too strong and painful. So I agreed to let her stay with me. Hell," Chun Li chuckled miserably, "I figured I could keep an eye on her and keep her from hurting herself. Maybe I could even help her remember who she was."

"And?" Guile prompted as Chun Li remained silent.

"I don't know, like I said, things just moved on from there." Chun Li looked over at him, tied beside her. "After we split up, William, I just needed someone, anyone."

Guile nodded, not a hint of judgment in his eyes as he opened them. "Do you love her?" He asked quietly.

Chun Li thought for a moment and nodded. "Yes, yes I do."

"Then let's make sure we get out of here and send that asshole Vega on a one-way trip to hell." Guile grinned. "Chin up," he said brightly. "Everything will work out okay."

"I wish," Chun Li said cynically. "That's the attitude of dreamers and fools. Life isn't built for either one of those."

"Well, we'll agree to disagree on that one, eh?" Guile suddenly frowned and flexed his arms, his biceps bulging for a moment and sweat breaking out on his brow. There was an intense rending sound, and then the ropes binding his arms snapped with a bang like a gunshot.

"How'd you do that?" Chun Li exclaimed in shock as Guile got to his feet and shook off the remains of the rope.

"It takes a lot of time, skill, and experience, but if I build up a huge amount of pressure in my forearms, I can snap pretty much anything." Guile grinned again, this time with a slightly rueful twist to it. "Hurts like hell though."

"Well hurry up, let's get out of here." Chun Li twisted about so Guile could untie her arms. She stood, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. "Great," she said. "Now let's find my team and blast our way out of here." They rushed for the rickety wooden stairs leading to the main floor of the villa.

Guile made it up first, and so was the first to discover their predicament. "It's locked," he said as he rattled the doorknob.

"Kick it down or something," Chun Li said hotly, almost pushing past Guile to try it herself.

Guile took one appraising look at the door and shook his head. "No way that's gonna happen." He stepped aside to show Chun Li. "This baby is reinforced with steel; it'd take something a heck of a lot bigger than my foot to bust this door down."

"Shit!" Chun Li swore viciously. "Then we're stuck in here?"

"Until someone opens this door, it looks that way."

"Then escaping those damned ropes didn't do anything!" Chun Li stormed down the stairs and began searching for some other way out. She was determined to find something, anything that would facilitate their escape from this dungeon under the villa. She checked over each wall carefully, searched the entire floor, and even stood on the wine racks to examine the ceiling. Nothing.

Chun Li sat back down by the rack they had been tied to and began to sob.

"Don't worry," Guile said softly, putting an arm around her. "As soon as one of those morons upstairs comes down to check on us, we'll get out. Trust me, everything will be okay."

Chun Li wished she could believe him, she really did. But their situation seemed more hopeless by the minute. And right now, Vega could be in Japan, doing unspeakable things to Cammy.

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With an airy sigh, Vega walked down the steps to the waiting car. The sun was up and things were looking bright in sunny Tokyo, and he was feeling like today would be the perfect day to have some fun with cute little Chun Li. But no, instead he was here, in Japan, with a job to do.

Work always got in the way of pleasure.

He stood out to a fair degree from the people of Japan, with his bright green tee-shirt and Panama hat. He also wore a pair of shades and a blue and yellow checkered jacket.

Vega pulled open the passenger door of the old Honda Integra and got in. He looked over at the driver––a thin, pallid Australian he knew only as Cuthbert––and told him to start driving.

"Got a present for you in the glove box," Cuthbert said, his voice a dull neutral without the usual Aussie accent. He was a cold professional, and able to kill without blinking an eye. Vega disliked him; a man had to enjoy his work, even if it was annoying, and for the Australian, it was just business as usual. So very sad.

Vega opened the glove compartment and smiled. A nice big Heckler & Koch USP Tactical lay inside, fitted with a silencer and with an extra clip of .45 caliber ammo.

"Aw, how nice, someone really does care about my happiness." He smirked at Cuthbert and checked out the gun. "Just like the one I have at home; the same one I couldn't bring through the frigging airport security and had to leave sitting in its holster feeling all dejected."

"The boss says it's your preferred weapon," Cuthbert said dully, his grey eyes not even flicking over to Vega. "He had me buy this one especially for this job."

"Good, now let's get this over with. Do we know where our dear sweet little Cammy is?" Vega was satisfied with the pistol, and he slipped it into his right jacket pocket, putting the clip of extra ammo in the other pocket.

"Yes, we have her location and two teams monitoring her."

"Then what the hell did you need me for?" Vega demanded. "I'm sure one of the normal flunkies could have handled it."

"The boss says he wants this done by someone he can trust." Was it Vega's imagination, or did Cuthbert sound a little annoyed? Maybe the Aussie didn't like the insinuation of not being trusted enough to kill one woman. It made Vega feel a little giddy.

"All right," he said. "Let's get this over with right now. I've things to do and people to torture." Yes, once Cammy was dead, Vega could go back to Taiwan and begin his party with Chun Li. The thought of making her pay for what she'd done to him was intoxicating, like a drug. It invigorated his system, filling him with a sense of power.

_So soon, dear, so very soon. I just have to kill your bitch girlfriend, and then we'll have all the time in the world._

To be continued…

Ah, a fairly unimpressive chapter. Nothing big happening, nothing exciting, just a lot of building up. Oh well, expect something to happen next chapter…or the one after that. I jest, I jest. I seriously hope I'm not boring anybody here by going at my own pace, and I hope you do find something to enjoy in my story. On a totally unrelated side note, I swear a lot don't I? I just noticed that my characters cuss like sailors. Man, this kinda annoys me, 'cause I'm so easy going in real life. I guess I get too involved in the plot, trying to get inside my characters' minds and make them act as they would act if they were real. Oh well. Sorry for the constant cussing.

J. Nelson, 4–8–2007.


	11. From the mouth of a gun

Chapter eleven: From the mouth of a gun.

Cammy rolled over in the wide bed, opening her eyes and finding herself as alone as the previous night. Apparently, Chun Li's mission had taken a little longer than she had anticipated. It felt odd, sleeping alone after being with Chun Li for so long. It wasn't right somehow.

Cammy slipped out of bed and pulled the shade on the bedroom window, letting in the bright Tokyo sunlight. She squinted out at the city that was her home and yet completely alien to her. She wasn't Japanese and no matter how much she loved this country, it wasn't hers. She wondered where she belonged, what nation had given her birth, and what she had been before M. Bison had torn all that away, building his own creature in the shell that had been Cammy.

She shook her head, clearing her mind as she went into the bathroom and began her shower. She had to stop thinking like that; it'd only lead to depression and worse. Chun Li had kept her sane and alive for the past year or so, and every time she was forced to go out on an Interpol assignment it cut into Cammy. She just had to focus and keep thinking about doing everything she normally did in a day. Acting normal was her only defense against the grim specters of her past.

Cammy finished her shower quickly, dressing in a honey-colored blouse and white slacks. She was drying her hair when the telephone in the kitchen rang.

Cammy put down the hair dryer and went out into the sparse kitchen, taking the phone off the hook and standing near the window overlooking the roof of a small movie theatre. "Hello?"

"Excuse me, are you Chun Li?" The voice was soft and almost feminine, though Cammy was sure it was a man speaking.

"No," she answered. "I'm Cammy, can I take a message?"

"Oh no, don't worry; I'll deliver it myself." The voice sounded pleased. "I hope you have a nice day."

"Yeah, who'd you say this was?" Cammy asked curiously. She heard a sharp dial tone and shrugged, returning the phone to its cradle. Whatever. If this guy didn't want to talk to her than it wasn't her problem.

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"She's home," Vega said, hanging up the payphone and returning to the car. "Let's go pay her a visit, hmm?"

"Right," Cuthbert said tightly, heading away from the curb and into the confusing jumble of Tokyo traffic. "How do you want to do this?"

Vega pulled the Heckler & Koch .45 from his waistband. He pulled back the slide and checked the clip. "Oh, I say we do it the old fashioned way; ring the bell, shoot the girl, and then maybe stop for sushi after. You like sushi, don't you, Cuthbert?" Vega smiled at the other man's scowl.

"Let's just get this over with," the Australian said in his neutral voice.

Vega giggled.

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Cammy finished braiding her hair and set about cleaning up the supper dishes from last night. She had only had a small meal––her appetite gone with Chun Li she supposed. She flicked on the radio as she washed the plates, silverware, and cup in the sink across from the small kitchen table.

The song on the radio was an American one, the Rolling Stones' Can't Get No Satisfaction, as sung by a Japanese rock star. Cammy liked the Stones; she had a couple of their albums on CD and listened to them at night, when she didn't feel like watching television or reading a book. It was a little odd to her, hearing it sung in Japanese. But it was still pretty darn good, and this guy could sing.

Cammy finished washing the dishes and turned off the radio. She didn't feel especially inclined to listen to music today. Right now, she'd head downtown and buy a coffee to enjoy while reading the morning newspaper. Maybe she'd find time to do a little shopping. It'd be nice to buy something to surprise Chun Li when she got back.

So it was with a smile on her face that Cammy opened the door to the apartment she shared with Chun Li. She was still smiling as she started down the corridor to the elevators, but that smile evaporated as the elevator doors opened, revealing two men.

The men looked normal enough, albeit one of them dressed in the most outrageous get-up Cammy had ever seen, but there was something about them that triggered an old reflex. It was the way they walked, cold and professional, with a purpose.

Cammy felt her spine tingle as, in slow-motion, the colorfully dressed man drew a big black automatic pistol. She could hear her heart hammer as the man aimed down the length of the hall at her, the gun extended in a shooting stance.

Cammy spun and raced back along the corridor, slamming through the unlocked door just as the man pulled the trigger. The gun coughed and the slug tore through the half-opened door, spraying chips of wood into the hallway. With a shriek, Cammy kicked the door shut, locking it with the deadbolt and rushing for the fire escape.

"Damn it," she heard the muffled curse from the hallway. "The little bitch locked the door. C'mon Cammy, don't do this to me! We're old friends, just take what you have coming and we'll call it a day." The door exploded inwards as the gaudy man kicked it open.

He spun into the room, his H&K searching for his target. The other man followed close behind, a different automatic in his hand.

"Shit, Cuthbert, it appears as though our friend has run out the fire escape." The man with the checkered jacket said. "Go out there and kill her, please."

With a snarl, the man referred to as Cuthbert sped over to the open door leading to the fire escape. He intended to pick the bitch off as she climbed down the ladder to the ground. Heck, she couldn't have made it down already. He was right.

Cammy had been waiting just off to the side of the door, hoping both of them would rush out blindly so she could take them out. She still remembered all her deadly martial arts skills from her time as an assassin, and she would use them against these psychos without a second thought.

As it was, she only got a chance to take out Cuthbert as he ran out onto the fire escape platform. He didn't notice her immediately, and she struck with lighting efficiency, knocking the gun out of his hand with a quick chop and kneeing him in the groin in the same fluid movement.

As the man realized what was happening, Cammy lifted him with both arms and threw him over the side of the fire escape, grabbing up his gun, a Glock 9mm, as he flailed his way to the ground, four stories down. He wouldn't be getting up ever again.

"Tut, tut," the man with the .45 said with a grin. "Thank you, that man was seriously beginning to depress me. I guess I owe you for that, Cammy. It's a pity you can't live to join us. It's nothing personal," the man smiled that same feral smile and suddenly she recognized him as she tried, vainly, to bring her Glock around before he could pull the trigger.

_Vega! That son of a bitch! He's supposed to be dead_!

Cammy's finger hadn't even had a chance to tighten on the trigger before Vega fired, a sharp cough coming from the mouth of the gun. At the range he was at, he wouldn't miss.

She felt a searing pain in her abdomen as the bullet tore into her, ripping through her body and exiting in a spray of gore. It hurt, but not as badly as she would have imagined. She wondered, in a very calm state of mind, if the slug had hit anything vital. The Glock slipped from her fingers and she began to stumble backwards, feeling as though she was moving through molasses. Cammy hit the side of the railing and went over, falling in an infinite void towards the street.

Everything went white long before she hit the ground.

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"Well, that's done," Vega said with a smile. "Two little birdies with one stone." He turned and left the apartment. "Now to see my dear sweet Chun Li and give her the bad news."

To be continued…

Short, but wow, what a load of action. Hey, notice how all of my minor characters (Tobias, Cuthbert, and I'm sure there'll be others) always die one story after they're introduced? Also, I'd like to clear up any confusion people might have had if they (highly unlikely) have read this whole thing. Yes, I said I wouldn't be submitting anything on Easter Sunday, and no, I didn't, but the date on my previous chapter says, well, Sunday on it. The reason for this is that I _wrote_ the chapter on Sunday but was unable to submit it until today. There, hope that clears that weird mess up.

J. Nelson, 4–9–2007.


	12. Freedom

Chapter twelve: Freedom.

The still air in the cellar was broken by the sound of the door being unlocked and then opened. Guile was surprised to hear it squeak; he'd figured the place was in better care than that. Oh well, it gave him and Chun Li ample time to position themselves by the stairs, in the shadows were no one could see them.

The guard who came down carried a tray of bread and soup, his AR-15 slung over his shoulder. He had a bored expression on his face and his eyes looked bloodshot, meaning he probably hadn't got much sleep. The opportunity was perfect. It was time to escape from this dungeon and make Vega pay.

"Hey, you two," the guard couldn't see where Chun Li and Guile were supposed to be tied, but he assumed they were still there. Big mistake. "Mr. Holmes wants to keep you nice and healthy, at least, until he gets back." The young man chuckled; he looked American. "I don't know what you did to piss him off but…" the man trailed off, noticing the torn bindings that lay on the cold floor. "Shit!" He dropped the tray and reached for his rifle, but not fast enough. Guile came up behind him and put him in a chokehold.

"Pity we can't stay to enjoy our host's hospitality." Guile's voice was a low growl, and with a flex of his powerful forearms he snapped the guard's neck.

"About time," Chun Li growled, taking the AR-15 from the dead man. "Now let's get out of here and find my men."

"Good idea," Guile muttered, taking the man's sidearm, a Smith & Wesson automatic. He followed Chun Li to the stairs, letting her take the lead since she carried the rifle.

Through the door was a small bland room taken up by a table and two chairs. A single bare light bulb cast a white glow over everything, from the cards on the table to the weapons in racks on the walls. And of course on the guard sitting at the table smoking a cigarette. He looked up in surprise just in time to receive a kick to the face from Chun Li. He didn't even have time to draw his automatic before it was lights out for him.

Guile was already moving to one of the other two doors in the room. This one was locked and barred tightly. Guile took a chance and unlocked it, pushing it open slowly with one hand while keeping his S&W trained dead-center.

The door opened to another stairway leading into yet another small cellar. Below, in the deep shadows, he could just make out the shapes of Chun Li's Interpol team, all bound to empty wine racks just as they had been.

Guile quickly rushed down, closely followed by Chun Li, and began untying the commandos. There were a lot of whispered questions silenced immediately by one man; Guile thought he was named Makito. He was one of Chun Li's Lieutenants, a thin man who was unusually tall for a Japanese.

"Damn it," he whispered with a faint grin. "How'd you two break out so easily? We were still trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do."

"Work out, eat your green vegetables, and have the strength of an ox," Guile suggested lightly. "Now let's get you boys some guns. I think we've got a nice little arsenal upstairs."

It was true, there was a ton of heavy weaponry in the little guard room. From Kalashnikovs to SIGs, from heavy machine guns like an old Vickers from WWII to light pistols like a Browning 9mm, heck there were even a couple of RPGs. And this didn't take into account the boxes of ammo piled against the walls, and crates filled with hand grenades. Guile took three of those little babies for himself and an old Thompson submachine gun in good condition.

"What is this?" Makito asked, taking a Beretta M92 for himself along with an M16. "It's like my birthday came early this year."

"I guess if you're an arms dealer you've got to have a private stash somewhere," Chun Li said, taking a Colt Python and a shoulder holster. "We're just lucky he had it right above the cellars."

"Damn straight," Guile said, hefting his subgun. "Now, when we're all good and ready let's shake this joint down." He grinned and the commandos grinned back. It was time for a little payback; no one liked being caught with their pants down, especially not an elite anti-terrorist squad like this.

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Guido sat back against the wall of the compound, trying to get a little sleep before Holmes or whoever he was got back. Damn but he was tired. They'd stayed up half the night just to catch these Interpol agents, and then that guy the Chinese chick called Vega blew Michaels away and took charge, and now they were told to be at their posts indefinitely. Heck, he should have stayed with the Italian army. But the money was so good here, and being dead to his country was actually a good thing. He had after all racked up considerable reprimands for excessive drinking and attempted rape, but he'd dodged that one thank goodness. If he hadn't faked his death, the army would probably have taken some serious sort of action against him.

Ah well, it wasn't so bad working for this secret group and their hidden leader. At least the work wasn't hard.

Suddenly, there was an explosion from the villa, snapping Guido awake at once. He stumbled to his feet, his AR-15 up and shaking madly. He wasn't afraid, no, but he was startled. And the difference between being completely prepared and being semi-awake was what killed him.

He saw a man running out from the back door of the villa and his sleep-blurred eyes tried to focus on him. He realized it was a hostile––a hostile armed with a submachine gun no less––just as the man started shooting at him. Desperately raising his gun, Guido felt a sharp burning pain in his chest as the .45 slugs tore through him, and then he felt nothing at all, not even the ground as he slid to his knees and fell face-first into the green lawn.

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Guile slammed a new clip of ammo into his Thompson as Chun Li and her commandos raced out over the lawn, attacking the enemy positions. They'd been lucky; most of the guards inside had been tired and easy pickings for the silent strike force. The only real danger was outside, with the main defense. But from what Guile could see, the surprise had been total and effective. Guards were dropping like flies under the barrage of automatic rifle fire and grenades.

Guile knelt by a nice statue of a naked lady with a couple of strategically placed palm leaves and hammered away at two guards crouching behind a stone bench. His Thompson blew big holes in the bench, but couldn't fight their way through to the flesh of the soldiers on the other side, so he plucked his last grenade from his belt. Pulling the pin, Guile cooked the grenade off for about six seconds, and then threw it as hard as he could.

It landed behind the bench, right between the guards. It exploded four seconds later, just as they had noticed it and were about to make a run for it. Pieces of charred flesh rained down along with blackened chunks of uniform. Poor bastards.

Guile turned to aid the others in their takedown of the front lawn and found the battle there finished with. Three soldiers in drab fatigues were kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads, their rifles at their feet, and many more lay dead all around the villa. Some riddled with bullets, some shredded by shrapnel, and others blown to smithereens. It was a massacre, and Guile felt a little sick knowing that he'd contributed to the body count.

_Hey there William, think with your brain for a minute. It was your or them, and they weren't going to sit down quietly and let you go without a fight_.

Guile walked up to Chun Li. "So are we done here?"

"I think so," Chun Li nodded to Makito. "Take these three idiots into custody. I've got to head for the extraction point immediately. Guile, are you coming?" She slung her assault rifle and started walking towards the garage, where Michaels had kept his collection of classic cars.

"Sure," Guile headed after her. "Those stingers can wait; they aren't going anyplace now."

"But we are," Chun Li promised, opening the garage doors and heading for one of the cars Michaels had conveniently left his keys in. "We're going to get on that plane and get back to Tokyo as fast as possible. Hopefully we'll be in time to stop Vega."

Guile nodded. He hoped she was right. Man did he hope she was right.

To be continued…

Ah, another one of my short but fun action scenes. Fun that is if you don't have to read them. My grasp of military tactics and weaponry is about on par to a grapefruit's. If the grapefruit had had a lobotomy. Oh well, just try to suffer through. Heck if you've made it this far, you probably deserve some sort of award. I know one person has made it this far, and to that person, I say thanks. Even if you only read to point out my numerous mistakes.

J. Nelson, 4–11–2007.


	13. Unfinished Business

Chapter thirteen: Unfinished business.

Vega sat back in the restaurant and sipped at his drink. It was a damn good beer. Hard to find one like it in Tokyo, but this little fish place run by a Vietnamese did a fair job; he had eaten here twice before, and gotten excellent service each time. He had a two o'clock flight to Taiwan waiting and he had decided to treat himself to this little impromptu meal. He did enjoy sushi, and shrimp too, and since this place served nearly any type of seafood imaginable…well it was as good a place as any to wait for his flight.

Suddenly, Vega's cellphone rang and he had the feeling he might not catch that flight back home after all. He leaned back and got the phone of his pocket.

"Yes?" He sighed as he answered. It was who he had feared. "What is it now? I already called you; Cammy's dead, we lost one guy, but so what? We're in the clear and I have a date waiting for me." Some important, but never rushed, speech followed.

"What?" Vega was incredulous. "You have got to be freaking kidding me! She can't be alive! I shot her off a freaking building!" He realized his voice was rising and he tried to calm down. "Are you sure?" He knew asking was stupid; his boss would have never called unless he was one-hundred percent positive.

"Well," Vega finished off his beer in one swallow. "Then it looks like I've still got a job to do. And this time, I'll put a round in her head just to make sure," he snarled coldly and hung up.

_Damn it, the woman had somehow survived. I should have given her more credit. Cammy really is a spectacular agent. Was a spectacular agent I should say. Was_.

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"She's lost a lot of blood!" The voice was Japanese, but Cammy understood him. She couldn't see him, but she understood him. Everything around her was white, like the burning light of the sun distilled into one fine point. She was moving, she realized that, but not of her own accord.

"She's in shock, get me a compress for this bullet wound until we can patch her up…." The voice was fading in and out, and Cammy realized he stood over her. She was lying on her back and moving. How was that possible? Of course, she was on a gurney, in a hospital. That answered that question, but raised a lot of others. How had she lived through the fall?

Slowly, pieces of her memory came back as she felt something get inserted into her arm.

"There," the harried Japanese man said. "I've given her a shot of painkiller, hopefully that will dull her nerves. But we have to operate immediately…. Will somebody set her arm? I don't want any splinters of bone ruining her chances of ever using that arm again."

Cammy remembered getting shot, and she remembered falling, and she remembered landing in a large trash bin, a dumpster. It had cushioned her fall. Then she remembered reaching into her pocket for her cellphone and calling for help; she had passed out several times already; once on the way down, once when she hit the trash, and once right after calling for the ambulance. Then she had woken here. She was alive.

A vision of Chun Li came to her and she smiled faintly.

_I'm still here_, she thought to herself, feeling proud and strong. _And I'm gonna make it. That bastard thought he'd had me, but he was wrong. Dead wrong_. Remembering Vega suddenly brought back a flood of other memories. And Cammy had one crystal-clear moment before falling into the realm of the unconscious. One moment to grasp something she had worried would never happen.

She remembered everything. For the first time in over two years, Cammy knew who she was.

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Light filtering in through the window blinds awoke Cammy, and she slowly opened her eyes.

She could see just fine. She was in a sterile hospital room hooked up to tubes and machines. It was afternoon, and she felt stiff and pained. But even that was relished by Cammy, for it proved her to be alive; alive and in complete control of her mind for the first time since her deprogramming.

She knew who she was, and she knew who she had been, before M. Bison had turned her into a brainless slave––an assassin with no remorse and no soul, a robot in human skin. Well, now she remembered, and as she did she began to cry softly. Her life…torn away and shattered beyond all repair. It was almost worse than not remembering.

_No_, Cammy said fiercely in her mind. _Nothing was worse than that hell, nothing_!

With a titanic effort, Cammy raised her hand, her left one as her right one seemed to be in a cast, and wiped away her tears. That life was gone, and now she could bury it and give it the funeral it deserved.

"Oh, you're awake," the doctor said as he entered the room. He was a wiry man with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a clipboard. He had gentle brown eyes and a comforting voice.

Cammy nodded feebly. "Yes, I'm awake," she said hoping her Japanese sounded okay.

The doctor smiled. "American?" He asked politely, taking some readings from the monitors and jotting down notes.

"No, German," Cammy realized it was true as she said it. Her home, the birthplace she had sought desperately for the last two years, was indeed Germany.

"Well, you're a very lucky woman either way," the doctor put his pen away. "Another inch to the left and that bullet would have killed you."

"What happened to my arm?" Cammy asked, feeling tired.

The doctor shrugged. "You must have broken it in the fall. It's okay though; we think it will fully heal in a few months with little or no permanent damage. Uh," the man looked a little uncomfortable, "the police will be here later in the evening to ask you some questions. I'm sorry, but every gunshot wound must be reported immediately."

Cammy nodded. "That's fine by me, so long as they bring dinner. I'm starved."

The doctor smiled. "We'll get you some food before then, just rest a bit. It's a miracle you're awake right now after the punishment you sustained."

Cammy nodded and the doctor left.

Yeah, she'd have no trouble talking to the cops. They'd believe her once Chun Li got back. So all that remained was to get her strength back and be ready to deliver the shocking news. Chun Li wouldn't like to hear that the maniac she had killed two years ago was alive and well. No she wouldn't like that at all.

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Vega walked into the hospital in the heart of Tokyo. He had changed into a more conservative brown suit and had a plastic badge pinned to his chest. If anyone had bothered to read the badge they'd have realized it was all gibberish, but no one questioned him. All they saw was a suit and badge, and that was good enough for them. Silly fools.

He quickly walked, seemingly with a purpose, towards the doctors' offices. He just needed one that was…ah-ha, there was the perfect target. He was a tall doctor, an Englishman judging from his appearance, and he looked to be about Vega's size. He was just unlocking the door to a small office when Vega came up from behind.

The doctor didn't hear the silent killer sneak up behind him in the empty corridor. He was humming a small tune as he entered his office and turned to shut the door.

"Oh, hello," the man was surprised, and Vega had been right in guessing he was English. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Vega smiled his animal grin. "I think there is," he stepped in, pushing the man further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"What's going on?" The man sounded slightly nervous, and with good reason as Vega shoved him against the cheap wooden desk. The man's eyes widened in shock as he saw the killer draw the big black Heckler & Koch .45, with the attached silencer, from his suit pocket. Then he was no longer nervous. A man needed to be alive to be nervous.

Vega had been careful to aim for the head, leaving the man's hospital coat and suit untouched by blood or brains.

Perfect, now he had some clothes he could go around in here without drawing any undue attention. It was the only disguise he'd need to finish his job. Cammy would die, one way or another, she would die.

Vega made it a promise. Besides, he had to get this over with so he could meet up with Chun Li. He smiled as he changed into the dead doctor's clothes, reading the name on the coat's tag.

Michael Snidely, huh? Okay, then that was who he'd be for now. So long as he didn't run into anyone who knew this Snidely he'd be fine. Too bad he couldn't say the same for Cammy.

To be continued…

First off, my humblest apologies for my late updates. Why you ask? Well you aren't going to believe me, but I'll tell you the truth: it's not my fault! Seriously, I was unable to update at all since the site refused to allow me to submit any documents. It gave me this error and told me to contact this one page if it continued happening. Guess what? I couldn't find that page anywhere. So, I was only recently able to return to my writing. I hope you believe me, but if not, well, I'm back now!

J. Nelson, 4–18–2007.


	14. Deadly showdown

Chapter fourteen: Deadly showdown.

The Interpol plane had barely landed, and already Chun Li and William Guile were in a compact car and racing for Chun Li's apartment. It would be close. Vega had already been here for more than half a day, and if he had been truly vigilant in his work… Guile didn't like to think about the consequences.

Fortunately, Chun Li's Interpol identification had negated the need for any careful screening, so it had been in and out of the airport for them, even with their sidearms. And right now, as Guile held on for dear life, they were making good time.

_We'll get there in only a couple minutes_, Guile thought to himself, gritting his teeth as they narrowly avoided a collision with another car. _If we live through this traffic_! Actually, it wasn't the other drivers' fault; it was Chun Li's maniac driving that would get them killed, but in this instance, Guile couldn't blame her.

He found it a little hard to believe, even now, that Chun Li was a lesbian. Heck, they'd spent some happy time together, before things got bad and they both realized it would never work. Well, this was a thought for a later time; right now, it was still crunch time. They had to stop Vega!

And this time, Guile figured Chun Li would make sure he stayed dead.

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Vega had purposely put his hospital badge on so that only the last name was partially visible. At least the I.D code would help him get by any security officers he found, but he didn't want to flaunt a badge that proclaimed him to be someone he wasn't. Too many dangers that way.

Actually, he had wished he could have done this without his gun. The bulge in his coat pocket felt far too noticeable. A quick syringe filled with cyanide or something would be better, but the chance of Cammy being awake was too great; she'd hardly let him plunge some poison into her veins, now would she?

Damn it, this job was getting more and more risky by the second. It should have been easy; waste Cammy, get home, finish Chun Li and that Air Force Colonel, and then relax and collect his payment. But now it was bigger, and he had to be more careful than ever.

"Excuse me," he said in English to a passing doctor. This guy looked Western enough by his features, so hopefully he'd understand English. "I'm looking for that gunshot victim that came in this morning."

"Oh," the man was American by his accent. "Sure, she's in room number…oh hell where'd I put that note?" The man dug around in his pockets for a while and came up with a piece of paper. "Here it is, the gunshot patient is in room number 15 in the west wing; she seems stable and the cops will be by to question her in a couple of hours."

"Well they just wanted me to check up on her, goodbye." Vega smiled and gave the other doctor a pat on the back as he passed by.

There, now it was time to finish this bloody job and get back to Taiwan.

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"Oh shit," Chun Li nearly dove out of the car as she pulled up to her apartment. Guile followed quickly, knowing how terrified she must feel right now.

Three police cars were at the curb, and a bunch of officers were moving about, collecting various pieces of evidence. Evidence of what, Guile had no clue, but he didn't think it was going to be good news.

"What happened?" Chun Li demanded to the first officer she came up to, flashing her Interpol credentials in his surprised face.

"We still aren't sure, ma'am, I––wait, are you the Ms. Chun Li who lives in apartment 32?" The man's gaze grew slightly harder, yet he still knew to keep his voice respectful.

"Yes, now tell me what happened!" Chun Li on the other hand was burning with anger, and she was almost ready to explode at the cop.

"There's been a fatal incident," the cop informed her slowly. Chun Li looked to on the verge of collapsing. "A man was killed; we believe he was pushed off of your fire escape, but we're still looking into that. Another person, a young woman, was found nearby. She was shot quite seriously but was taken to the hospital. We haven't questioned her yet but…"

"Then she's still alive," Chun Li said with relief. "Thank God. But then who was the man they found dead?" She held her breath slightly, hoping it was Vega, but the policeman's description didn't match that of the psycho killer.

"Shit, he's still alive. Which hospital did you say the woman was taken to?" She asked sharply.

Guile got back into the car's passenger seat. If Vega and Cammy were both alive, then maybe all wasn't lost. That is, if they got to Cammy before he did.

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Vega walked down the hospital's bright corridors feeling sick. He hated hospitals, and the tension of the job wasn't helping his ailing stomach. Still, he was almost done, and soon he would be on a plane back to Taiwan as the authorities struggled to figure this one out.

Everything would be okay.

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Chun Li and Guile rushed into the hospital and headed straight for the main desk.

"Excuse me," Chun Li said breathlessly as she showed the woman working behind the desk her I.D. "We're looking for the woman that came in this morning with a gunshot wound. It's imperative we get to her as soon as possible."

As Chun Li got directions to Cammy's room, Guile made sure his automatic was loose in its holster by his side. He wanted to be ready in case it came down to the wire. He was impressed that they'd made it here in only three minutes, so maybe they still had time. He hoped so, but if Vega was here, then he wanted to make sure that the lunatic was a dead man walking.

"Let's go," Chun Li said and led Guile down a corridor, through a pair of doors, and along a hallway lined with rooms. "Cammy's in number 15." Chun Li nodded to a door that a doctor was just entering. "That's it."

_Wait a minute...that man...even from behind I'd recognize him anywhere_!

"Chun Li, wait, Vega's in there!" But it was too late. Chun Li had barged through the door, just in time to see Vega, dressed like one of the hospital staff, pull a gun out of his coat.

The killer paused, a look of shock and surprise on his face. He stood over Cammy, who was sleeping peacefully with her arm in a sling. Vega had been about to kill her in cold blood.

"You bastard!" Chun Li screeched, snapping a kick to his chest and sending him flying against the wall. His automatic slid out from his fingers and skittered across the floor and under the bed.

Vega, with a snarl of rage, kicked Chun Li as she charged towards him. She landed on the small wooden chair by the bed, smashing it into sharp fragments.

"Why you…" Guile drew his automatic, but it was kicked out of his hand by Vega, who had jumped to his feet in one fluid movement. He raised his fist to slam it into Vega's face, but the other man easily blocked the blow and hit Guile in the back of his knees with his heel, sending the former Air Force Colonel to the ground.

"You go to hell!" Vega rasped, still gripping Guile's right arm. He started to twist it when Chun Li rammed her elbow into his face with a crunch. "Argh!" He stumbled backwards, both hands held to his bleeding and broken nose. "You bitch!" He yelled. "I won't let you defile my face any more!"

He charged at her in a blind frenzy, his fists pounding for her skull. But Chun Li easily ducked his attacks, and chopped him in the stomach, making him double over in agony. Then, as he stumbled forward with a whoosh of expelled air, she kicked him in the groin and grabbed his arm, flipping him to the floor.

As Vega landed with a thud, Chun Li raised her foot and slammed it down onto his windpipe before he could react. She hit with such force that the snap of Vega's broken neck could be heard from the hall.

Chun Li held her foot there for a long moment, feeling all the anger she had felt at this evil creature drain away. Now, she looked down at his dead body and his staring eyes, and she felt nothing. Maybe a little relief that he was gone, now and forever, but other than that, nothing. No sense of victory, no feeling of remorse, just a deadness that seeped into her very soul.

"He's finally gone," Guile said, stepping up to Chun Li. "We did it, we beat him."

"Only him," Chun Li said, walking away from the corpse and over to Cammy's bed, where the other woman was just waking up. "We still have a lot of unanswered questions before this really ends."

Guile realized she was right.

To be continued…

Okay, this time I don't have the site to blame on my late update. I got busy, what with my other commitments, and didn't have the time to write anything. Sorry to those of you who care (answer: zero). I also note that this was an extremely poor chapter. Mainly because I avoid hospitals whenever I can, thus I know so little about them. Oh well, writing keeps me from doing other, much less enjoyable things. Like singing. If you think my writing is bad, just wait till you hear my singing!

J. Nelson, 4–22–2007.


	15. New plans

Chapter fifteen: New plans.

The office was bright, with a window facing Lake Ontario. It was filled with subdued furniture, with tall bookshelves lining the walls. The books were old for the most part, and all were classics. Sun Tzu's The Art of War sat beside Hamlet by William Shakespeare, and a globe of the world, circa 1895, sat on one end of a nearly empty bookshelf. It could have been the office of a prestigious lawyer, or a CEO of a major corporation. In reality, it was the office of a man named Gilbert Styles, the head of a small shipping business called Eagle Northeast.

In the real world, Eagle Northeast made only a marginal profit each year from its legal clients. It was the other ones that brought in the big money, the ones that wished to transport something that most governments found to be illegal. Guns, drugs, people, if it was possible to get it across a border for profit then Eagle Northeast could do it.

The IRS had tried to get evidence on this company since it had been founded a year ago, but all attempts turned up nothing. They couldn't prove that Styles or anyone on his payroll was doing anything less than legal with their business and their money. Heck, they even paid taxes like every good law-abiding company, except that the IRS found it almost impossible to tell where half the money came from.

Without concrete evidence though, nothing could be done. The government and the Justice Department would watch carefully for any dirty happenings, but their hands were tied.

And that was just the way Gilbert Styles wanted things.

A slim white phone rang on the cherry wood desk, and Styles, sitting back with his face to the warm sun, turned and picked it up.

"Yes?" He said, his voice deep and resonant.

"Sir," it was Marty Goldcastle, his "business" advisor. "Is the line clear?" He sounded nervous.

"Of course it is," Styles said gruffly. "It's swept every morning, my windows are plated with electromagnets to prevent electronic listening devices, and if anyone tried listening at the door they'd find my bodyguard's boot shoved firmly up their ass. Even if the FBI decided to try and read my lips, they would find it most challenging with the one-way glass window behind me. So feel free to say whatever you want."

"Fine," Goldcastle still sounded nervous, but he took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Vega's dead, that Interpol woman killed him." There, he had said as calmly as possible. Now he only had to fear how his boss would react.

"I'm surprised he lasted this long," Styles said dully. "The idiot had a death wish the way he went after Chun Li. I didn't expect him to actually succeed in his assignment. All he needed was to keep her and Guile busy while I finished my plans. All is going as expected. What about Ken and Ryu?"

Again, Goldcastle hesitated. "Uh, they're both alive from what we can tell. We don't have any solid reports, but it appears our mercenary squads failed."

"A pity, but again, not unexpected; both of them were easily the better of our cheap labor. Either way, it is now time to put the final plans in motion. The package is in our possession, and we shall be ready to use it by the end of the week."

"What about Ryu and Ken? Won't they try and track down the mercenaries at the source?"

"I should hope so," Styles chuckled. "Don't worry so much; they'll be dead long before they can be a threat to our endeavor. In fact, I have a perfect candidate for the task of eliminating dear Ryu. Just continue monitoring them, and inform me of any new developments. Goodbye," Styles hung up before his advisor could say anything else.

The man was really quite bothersome. Too little backbone in him. Oh well; soon he wouldn't even need a liaison with the local crime bosses. Soon, they would be begging him for an audience. Those that lived anyway.

Styles pressed a buzzer on his desk. "Yes, Mark, please send him in," he spoke into the intercom to his bodyguard and sat back. In another moment, the door to his office opened and a large man with an eye patch walked in.

The man wore a grey sweatshirt and faded jeans. The shirt looked dirty and outcast, like something one would expect a homeless man to be wearing. However, this man had not been homeless. Victor Sagat had been in the New York prison system for nearly three years. Arrested for running an illegal fight club, he had been picked up not long after his defeat by Ryu Hoshi in a street fight. He was a dangerous man, or so Styles hoped.

"So," Sagat said in his drawling voice. He had an American accent, although records showed that he had been born in India, probably to mixed parents judging from his partial Caucasian features. "You're the man who got me out of my cell. Good job whoever you are, but what do you want from me?"

Styles smiled. "It's not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. Please, have a seat. Would you care for a drink?"

Sagat shook his head as he sat across from the man who had gotten him out of prison with a fancy lawyer and probably a hefty amount of money. "No, just tell me what you need. And don't bother sugarcoating it," he advised with a smirk, "I've heard too many assholes tell me that it's "in my best interests" to do what they wanted. Bull, just give me the facts, plain and simple."

Styles smiled. He liked this man already. "Alright then," he said, picking up a folder from his desk and flipping through it. "Here's a face you may recognize." He tossed Sagat a picture of Ryu, taken almost four years ago. It was the newest shot they had of the man.

Sagat looked the picture over, his face not altering a hair. He handed it back with a shrug that was far too casual. "Yeah, I recognize that punk. He's Ryu Hoshi, a damn good fighter, and the only man to ever beat me."

"Yes, and I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out what I want all by yourself."

Sagat nodded. "Sure, I bet you want him dead and figure my connection with him is enough to make me rush out of here to tear his head off, right?" He watched Styles cock his head and nod faintly. "Well, sorry to bust up your cute little fantasy, but I'll only do this for a sizable fee. Heck," Sagat grinned coldly, his one eye flashing slightly in the light of the sun, "I won't get myself killed by this guy for nothing. He's better than me and I know it."

"So you're saying you don't think you could take him?" Styles kept his voice neutral as he replaced the folder in a drawer.

"No, I just said he's better than me; I've learned some new tricks since I met Ryu. If it was a straight match, I'd get my ass handed to me. But I don't like playing fair."

"And how much would this little task cost?"

Sagat shrugged. "Fifty-thousand dollars, cash, in bills no larger than fifties. And I want half of it in advance. Do that and I'll kill Ryu."

Styles pretended to think for a long moment, frowning as though he wasn't sure and scratching at his chin. Then, he nodded crisply, and stood up, reaching across the desk to shake Sagat's hand. "It's a deal," he said.

"I know," Sagat said with a faint smile. "You know where to find me once you have the first twenty-five grand." With that, Victor Sagat left the office.

Gilbert Styles smiled and sat back at his desk, picking up his phone. He quickly dialed a number from memory and looked out his window. It was such a beautiful day. Maybe he should have a barbeque, invite his neighbors, have some hamburgers or chicken and just relax.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

"Yes, it's me," Styles said into the phone, suddenly all business. "You were right sir, Vega's dead. But I've found that replacement you mentioned. Yes sir, he seems quite impressive. I'm sure he stands a good chance of taking out Ryu. But what about Masters?" He waited as his boss rattled off a long sentence. His smile grew as he listened to the new plan forming. "Genius, sheer genius…he'd be put away for a long time, and I'm positive we could make sure it was permanent. I'll get to work on that at once."

Styles nodded and waited until his boss hung up before putting the phone down. Yes, it was a very nice day. He hadn't liked the idea of attacking the two men without necessity, but it appeared that it would work out well nonetheless. Besides, as soon as his boss revealed himself to the world, nothing short of death would have stopped those two from hunting him down, and that's when they could have done the most damage. No, harassing them now, and then killing them while the confusion was still fresh should do just fine.

And if it didn't, Styles had a place in Mexico he could hole up and hopefully ride out the tidal wave that was coming. The world was going to change; at least, if everything went according to plan.

To be continued…

Ah, continuing the plot. Weak huh? Oh well, I'm trying my best to keep my readers from being too bored, but I suppose I should have tried that earlier, before I scared them all away with my awful writing. I have only one very frightening statement to make: this is not even halfway finished yet. Okay, are you shaking in your shoes now?

J. Nelson, 4–25–2007.


	16. The search for answers

Chapter sixteen: The search for answers.

Ryu Hoshi stopped in front of a house that looked exactly like all the others on this dull, suburban street in Connecticut. He checked the pocket of his khaki pants and removed a piece of paper that Dee Jay had given him, albeit with some reluctance.

"Man," Dee Jay had said with a sigh. "You ain't gonna get anything from his wife. He died in Iraq, remember? I was there, in the convoy with him. He was one humvee ahead of me when the I.E.D went off. Nobody in that humvee survived."

"I just want to talk to her, maybe get to know this Tobias Havers a little and figure out how he fits into this assassination attempt."

Dee Jay had shaken his head. "Fine, I'll give you her address, but you didn't get it from me." He had scribbled down a note on a piece of paper and handed it to Ryu. "She lives with her sister in Connecticut. But she doesn't know anything, trust me."

"I do," Ryu said truthfully. "But it's my only lead."

So here he was, a day later, standing on an empty street at three o'clock in the afternoon, and staring at a blandly nice house with a small front lawn and a white picket fence. Dee Jay had left early the previous evening, heading back to Jamaica and his bar. Ryu had thanked him and even offered to drive him to the airport, but his old friend refused, saying he remembered Ryu's driving and wanted to live to see his wife again.

Well, that was enough staring; someone would begin to think he was crazy or a burglar or something, so Ryu went up the short, well-kept walk and rang the doorbell. He waited patiently on the nice deck that ran around the house and noticed the toys lying around.

_So she has a kid. Just great Ryu, just great. You better be damned tactful here_.

The door opened to reveal a nice, very clean living room, with an overstuffed sofa dominating the middle of the room and a large LCD TV on the wall opposite it. Standing in the doorway was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties dressed in a white blouse and tan slacks. She had tired brown eyes and short black hair.

"Hello," Ryu said, hoping he looked halfway respectable in his green shirt and white jacket. "I'm looking for Angela Havers?" He asked the question as neutrally as possible.

"That's me," the woman said in a slightly accented voice. Ryu guessed she had been born in Britain judging from the faint English accent. "Except it's Angela Pelham now. I haven't used Havers since my husband died."

"I'm sorry," Ryu said trying to sound as honest as he could. He found it hard to inject any emotion into his voice, partly because her husband had tried to kill him, and partly because he had trained himself to keep those emotions hidden.

"It's okay, Mr.…I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"I'm Ryu Hoshi and I knew your husband," that wasn't exactly a lie; he had known him, for all of a minute.

"Oh, please, come in," Angela Pelham stood aside and gestured for Ryu to step into the living room.

Ryu did so and took the seat on the sofa Angela offered him. He felt a little awkward, having never been one to deal with touchy subjects like this and finding it hard to know where to proceed. Fortunately, Ms. Pelham took the lead on that.

"Did you serve with Tobias?" She asked as she stood by the fireplace set into the side wall.

Ryu shook his head. "No, I knew him…we knew each other when he wasn't in the military." Maybe that explanation would suffice.

Angela nodded. "Then you knew him before I ever did. I met him while he was on leave in Hawaii. Just a short break, but it was enough time for me to fall in love." Angela grimaced slightly. "Probably the biggest mistake of my life."

"There were problems?" Ryu asked, trying not to press too hard.

"Oh no, hell no, we were very happy together. And when I got pregnant with Ryan a few months after I followed Tobias, like a love-sick puppy, back to Texas, we got married and everything was looking great." Angela met Ryu's eyes with a steely gaze. "He was a wonderful father, and a good husband. But after he got deployed…things got bad." She scrubbed a few tears away. "I just couldn't deal very well without him, and then he went and got himself killed…. It's just hard, trying to raise a son who never really got to know his father, and…and I do miss him, constantly." Angela turned away for a moment to compose herself; she was really distraught, and Ryu would have rather been anywhere but here, anywhere. "God, I sound just like one of those weeping wives you always see on the television. And here I said I'd never be like that, that I'd be strong."

"I'm really sorry," Ryu said, realizing that he would find nothing of value here, just like Dee Jay had told him. "Maybe I should go." He stood up and Angela waved him back to his seat.

"No, no, actually it'd be good to talk to someone who knew Tobias. Would you care for a drink? I know I'd like one." Angela smiled and headed towards the kitchen.

"Sure, but only water if that's alright," Ryu remained on his feet but instead of leaving, he went over to the mantle above the fireplace. There were framed pictures there, each showing Angela, or Tobias, and usually featuring a young boy who couldn't have been more than six. There was a family portrait with the smiling couple in front of a lake, with the boy off to the side in swimming trunks. Ryu assumed he was Ryan, their son.

Ryu was about to turn away from the pictures, when one of them caught his eye. It was a black and white print of Tobias and two of the men who had tried to kill Ryu in his home. What were their names? Andy and Carl, that's right, Dee Jay had known them as well. But there was a third man in the picture. A man with light colored hair and a scar running down the length of his face.

Angela Pelham cleared her throat behind Ryu and he put the picture down quickly. "Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," Angela said, joining him at the fireplace. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"It feels like just a couple days ago," Ryu said, still staring at that one picture.

Angela nodded. "That one was taken before I knew him." She indicated the same picture that had Ryu curious. "That's Andy and Carl Cole, two brothers. They died in Afghanistan, before Tobias."

"I met them," Ryu said absently, burning the face of the unknown man into his brain.

"Really? I never had the pleasure, but I did know Avery Sims," she pointed to the thin man with the scar. "And a right bastard he was. Personally, I'm glad Tobias didn't keep up with _all_ his old buddies."

"So this Sims was in the military?" Ryu asked, feeling close to some answers.

"Hardly," Angela snorted. "He was a solider of fortune, a paid gun who seemed to delight in finding people to kill. He was a monster. I only met him the one time he came to the base to talk with Tobias. He got his butt kicked out once Tobias heard what he wanted, and then I never saw him again. Lucky me."

"When was this?"

"About six months before Tobias was deployed to Iraq; and no, I have no idea what he wanted to speak to my husband about. He creeped me out." Angela smiled and decided to change the subject. "Why don't we sit and have a drink? I've got tap water for you, if that's okay. My sister doesn't believe in bottled water."

Ryu did his best to smile cheerfully; he was only partially successful. "That's just fine." At least now he had a clue. Something he could work with. It may have been a coincidence, this Sims meeting with Havers, or it might have been something deeper. Either way, his goal was clear and he had another brick to build upon.

--------------------------------------------------

Somewhere in Germany, a man was sitting on a park bench. It was raining, but he held no umbrella. In fact, other than a grey fedora and a black raincoat he had nothing to protect himself from the elements.

His name was Arnold Kramer, or so he claimed. In reality, he was Avery Sims, the mercenary that had known Tobias Havers before he died…and after as well. In fact, he had recruited him for the job, convinced him to work with them, at the cost of his life apparently.

Sims felt no remorse. People, to him, where expendable tools, to be used and then thrown away. He did however have a feeling of foreboding, and he thought he knew why.

He had screwed up. His boss wouldn't like that. Since he had been used, and proven to be a failure, now it only fit that he'd be eliminated. But he wouldn't go down without a fight. No, he'd take out as many of these fools as he could if they came after him.

A man with an umbrella and very noticeable bulge under his tan raincoat stepped off the pavement and started walking towards him. Sims smiled. This was the man he had been told to meet to collect his next orders, and the rest of his pay for the job he'd done so far. He was also the man who was supposed to kill him.

It was either a submachine gun or a shotgun, something big and deadly. That was okay. Sims was packing a .357 and a Beretta. He was confident he could get to one of those long before the man in front of him could unbuckle his coat and draw whatever he was carrying.

_Fine_, Sims thought to himself. _If that's the way you want to play it; let the games begin_.

To be continued…

Another chapter, another step closer to finishing the story. Only a step however. Next up, I'll try focusing on a different character, someone unique to the story. Yup, my next chapter will be about Sims, a character I created for a temporary role, but discovered I could use him for something bigger. Can't tell you what. Just wait and see.

J. Nelson, 4–28–2007.


End file.
